Harry Potter and the Chamber Pot of Secrets
by Masamune CAN
Summary: A parody of the original from a very young and easily amused 15 year old
1. The Worst Birthday

CHAPTER ONE

THE WORST BIRTHDAY

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had awoken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise coming from his nephew Harry's room.

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that ruddy pigeon, it'll have to go!"

Harry tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's an owl, and she's _bored,_" he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could let her out at night– for an hour or two–"

"Do I look stupid to you?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit a fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. The great radish man cawed like a monkey and stared at Harry with a glittering evil in his crooked eye.

Harry thought it over. "Is that like a trick question, or something?"

His uncle boiled, but seemingly forgot the comment and continued, "I know what'll happen if that bird's let out."

He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.

"What the neighbors would think!" she said faintly. "A bright, ghostly owl; zooming in and out of OUR home! Not in my lifetime have I _ever–_" and she continued to ramble on.

Harry tried to argue back to his only living relatives, but his words were soon drained out by a long, loud belch from the Dursley's enormous son, Dudley.

"Dud want mo' bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive boy. Dudley, who was so large that his buttocks drooped over either sides of the kitchen chair, tried to jiggle himself to his feet. When he failed, he grinned and turned to Harry.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You fat cow, you've forgotten the magic word," growled Harry irritably.

The effect of this simple statement on the rest of the family was incredible. Dudley gasped and farted, falling off of his high chair; Mrs. Dursley shrieked and clapped her hands to her chest; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet and pulled out a bloodied axe, veins throbbing on his temples.

"I meant, 'please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean–"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered the Uncle, spraying spit all over the house, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?!"

"But I–"

"HOW DARE YOU!" roared the lion, er... Uncle Vernon... brandishing the axe.

"I just–"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALTY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

"YOU PEOPLE HAVE ISSUES!" cried Harry loudly, standing up himself. He felt his temper rise and his ears burn. "ALRIGHT, ALREADY!"

His beefy, purple, radish-like uncle slowly sunk back into his seat, heaving like a winded rhinoceros. Harry tool the advantage deeply. _Deeply._

"I'm going outside. I'll be back in a bit."

And with that, Harry Potter marched across the room, through the hallway and out the front door. He found himself face-to-face with the blinding sun of the hot summer, so turned and head towards the shade across the street on a small bench in the distance.

Many birthdays weren't fun at number four, Privet Drive. Actually... _none _of them were. What with his cousin's pigginess and his aunt's horse-like looks and personality traits, not to mention his turnip-resembling uncle, Harry might as well have died the day he was born, just to halt the everlasting misery his twelve years of life had already inflicted upon him.

Sometimes though, if he was lucky, people around the neighborhood would leave fresh, hot pies and cakes on windowsills to dry, or bake, or whatever they do. He's usually sneak his snowy white owl, Hedwig, out of her cage and down out of the house under his baggy, elephant-skin-like clothes, just so she could fly and steal him a piece of it. Then when she would return, Harry would have her cut him a half-moon shaped slice and give her the rest. But that hadn't happened for a few weeks now, for when Uncle Vernon had discovered what he was up to, he had sealed Hedwig in her cage for the rest of the summer, where she remained unhappy.

Today, Mrs. Number 6's sill held a rather juicy looking apple and cinnamon pie, and even if Hedwig had been able to come out and help him steal it, why would he let her? Hadn't she recently had a greasy dead frog in her mouth? Eww! _Whatever _would Harry _do_??

He made up his mind and seized a pointed rock from the sidewalk, then marched across number six's lawn.

When at the sill, Harry reached longingly. But his good side came back to him. _This was stealing! _But it was pie! _But it was also stealing... _But it was pie, as well!

However, before he could discuss the oh so terrible dilemma with himself any further, Dudley came waddling up to him from their own yard.

"_What're yoooou–_" he started, then his piggy little eyes spun and focused on the pie behind Harry. He pounced and punched Harry into a thorn bush, and before Harry had even comprehended what was going on, the pie was gone and Dudley was seen smacking his lips and grinning.

"OH, LORD! WHY, GOD? WHYYYYY!!!???" howled Harry in grief, on his knees and unknowingly covered in sharp thorns. Then he realized it. "OWWWW!"

"Heh, heh, heh..." chuckled Dudley greedily, and he stalked away into the night, though it was afternoon.

Then, Harry fainted. Because a lot of the time, Harry Potter faints. Maybe it was because he was known as the baggy, nerd with glasses that didn't want to learn and had no friends. It may have also been because he was a wizard.

When Harry regained consciousness, he sat up and straightened his glasses with a dark glare, that was directed for no reason, on the rose bush he'd been pushed into by dear old Dudley.

But all of a sudden, a pair of orb-like, glowing green eyes appeared in the exact place he'd been staring. He screamed.

"OUCH! Dang, blasted rose thorns!" cursed a squeaky voice from within.

"Huh?!" spluttered Harry in surprise.

"Er–" said the voice quickly. "You didn't see anything!"

"I _haven't_ seen anything yet. But your eyes, or whatever they are. I've only now heard you."

"Errrr–" But that was the last Harry heard from the voice, for at that time, Dudley approached again.

"I came back because I was bored," he alerted dumbly.

"Good for you. Now leave again," growled Harry, noticing the eyes were now gone. He examined everywhere for them.

"I know what today is," said Dudley proudly.

"Great. You've learned the days of the week... well done."

"Today is your birthday."

Harry blinked. How had Dudley remembered that? He couldn't remember anything ever, unless he'd seen it on some television show. Could it be possible that Harry's birthday had been announced on Oprah?! YAAYYY!

"Really then? I honestly didn't know that myself," said Harry quietly. "I actually needed telling; so thanks, Dud."

"Oh, shut up with the sarcasm, Potter!" snapped Dudley. "And why are you examining that bush so intently?"

Harry straightened up, realizing how obvious it must have been to an onlooker as he had stared in and around the bush.

"Just thinking," he lied quickly... he never thought.

"Of what?!"

"Oh yeah... I'm going to tell you... because it really is your business." Harry coughed, but caught onto a plan. "I'm... thinking about what spell I'm going to use to catch that bush on fire with."

Suddenly, the smugness left Dudley's face and was replaced with fear. "N-no! You're not to use m-magic, Potter!"

Harry leaned in closer.

"Oh yeah?" he tested. " Squiggly Wiggly! Noodle Oodle Oodle! Hongkonglegabottom! I'm Dib!"

"No, no, no, no!" cried Dudley loudly, covering his ears. How was he falling for this act? "I'm not listening, I'm not listening, la la la la la la la..."

"Hocas Pocas! J.K. Rowling!"

Dudley squealed like and piggy and ran for his life. Harry grinned. With one last glance at the bush, he followed the screaming fat kid back home.

"Now, as we all know, today is a special day."

The Dursleys and Harry had been forced to gather in the living (or dying??) room that afternoon at around three o'clock. Uncle Vernon stood in front of the grand piano thing as the others sat snuggling on the couch. At Uncle Vernon's words, Harry looked up, hardly able to believe it.

"Yes!" bowed Harry grandly, leaping to his feet and standing atop the piano. "Today _is _my birthday! Thank you, thank you... where's my presents?"

He looked around expectantly for them lying around. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks.

"Get down from there, you nitwick! We didn't get you anything; we hate you! Don't you get it? After ten... nine..."

"Twelve," corrected Harry grimly.

"...whatever years!" barked Vernon. "Now sit down and listen carefully, boy... I don't want you especially to miss one bit of what I'm about to say."

Harry sadly did as he was told and snuggled against the corner of the couch, eyes welling dramatically.

"That's better," said Vernon tensely. "Now... as we all know, today is a special day. It's the day my career skyrockets for the better of things! If this successfully pulls through, we'll be in Hawaii this time tomorrow! And by 'we' I mean, everyone but Harry."

Aunt Petunia clapped stupidly. Dudley checked his watch. So did Harry.

"Yes, yes... well, as you also know, Mr. Mason and his wife will be coming to dinner tonight. So, of course, I want us all to be on our _best _behavior... Harry." He twittered brutishly to the bespectacled boy in front of him. "Now, let's rehearse our positions when they arrive. Petunia?"

"I will be in the lodge, waiting to welcome them graciously to our home," she recited from Shakespeare.

"Excellent! Vivid! Inspiring!" shouted the edible root. "And what about you, Dudley?"

"I will be waiting to open the door," he said on queue, offering a porky arm to an invisible woman. "May I take your shirt, Ms. Mason?"

"Excellent! Vivid! Inspiring!" shouted the pungent stem. "But it's _coat, _Dudley, not _shirt_... and _yooou _Harry? Where will you be?"

"Probably in the pooper after all of the pies I stole today. Er..." he caught his uncle's sharp eye. "... I mean, I'll be waiting in my room; making no noise and pretending I don't exist."

"Excellent! Vivid! Inspiring!" shouted the land barnacle, giggling girlishly. "And when dinner time arrives, I will tell my drunk Irish golfer joke, and Petunia, you will be...?"

Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she'd have answered, "In my cage." But she said, "Announcing my wondrous meal! Beef, onyx, chicken and kibbles!"

Dudley drooled. "... kibbles..."

"Excellent! Vivid! Inspiring!" shouted the radish. "And Dudders, you will be...?"

"Naked."

"Yes, yes... and what _else_?"

"Oh... right," remembered the great oaf. "I'll say: 'Mr. Mason, when I was to do an assignment at school about my _hero,_" Dudley winked girlishly to an invisible man, "I did _mine_ about _you._"

"Excellent! Vivid! Inspiring!" hazahed Uncle Vernon, turning burgundy with suspense. "And you, boy?"

"I'll be in the background, cracking up as I watch Dudley try to talk with someone else without stuffing his fat face," said Harry mindlessly. Then he realized his aunt and uncle staring at him with hatred and he added, "I mean... I'll be in my room; making no noise and pretending I don't exist."

"So right you are," said Uncle Vernon, a vein throbbing in his neck. "Now, Petunia, if you wouldn't mind doing the woman's work around the house and spruce things up before our guests arrive, I will be on the couch, ordering you around while watching news and sports. Toodle-oo."

And he flew away. Aunt Petunia scowled, but quickly popped back into her state of pure enjoyment as she skipped around the house the rest of the day, cleaning and picking things up. Instead of helping her dust and vacuum though, Dudley went to eat things and watch television with his father as Harry escaped the house to look for pies once more just before his aunt could force him to assist her.

It was half past seven when Harry returned home, exhausted. A woman he'd tried to steal a massive cake from had been chasing him halfway through London and back, beating him over the top of the head with her heavy rolling pin, and only just now had he finally been able to limp back up the driveway to his horrible home in time for dinner.

"Get in here!" said Petunia frantically. "Where have you been, boy? And walk on the newspaper!"

Harry stalked across the newspaper set up all along the hallway with a sigh and found Petunia in the kitchen by the stove. On the counter next to her was tonight's pudding; a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast beef was sizzling in the oven, surrounded by pump kibbles.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here any minute!" snapped Aunt Petunia with a pursed look, pointing to two slices of bread, a moldy chunk of white cheese and a glass of dirty water on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon pink cocktail bar skirt and a Coyote Ugly designed tank top, that was, for some reason, wet. Harry glanced at the clock.

"Aunt Petunia, the Masons will be here at nine o'clock. It's seven thirty now!"

"I don't care, we just want you away from us– so go on, then... eat! And go then to your room!"

At least the Dursleys had been frightened enough from the previous year's storm of letters that wouldn't seem to cease coming from owls around the area to allow Harry to move out of the cupboard under the stairs they had forced him to live in for eleven years and into Dudley's spare toy room upstairs. Hogwarts, Harry's wizarding school, had insisted that he go there to learn the magical talents needed to become a successful wizard... and the past year had brought so much action to Harry's life already that he was tired. What with meeting the man, Lord Voldemort, who had killed his parents at the end of the year, half-dead and connected to the back of someone he had trusted; and his new 'friends', Ron and Hermione, Harry had both good and bad to get out of the experience.

However, Harry thought as he munched on the cheese, neither Ron nor Hermione, (Ron who lived with his many brothers in a wizarding house somewhere Harry wasn't sure, and Hermione, who lived with her Muggle-born parents somewhere else Harry wasn't sure) hadn't written to him once over the lonely summer, though Ron had promised to have him over for the summer.

Harry moaned as the moldy, chunky cheese got caught in his throat and he preformed the Heimlich maneuver on himself, as neither Mr. or Mrs. Dursley, nor Dudley realized him dying on the kitchen table as they went on with their business. Five minutes later, Aunt Petunia whisked away his dishes as Uncle Vernon ushered him, (and by 'ushered him', I mean, 'chased him with much screaming and beating',) upstairs with a bowl of dead, dish-soapy soup.

"Remember, Potter... one sound..."

Harry crossed his arms after setting the soapy soup on his bookcase; Uncle Vernon slammed the door closed and he heard the deadlocks snap on the other side. Muttering darkly, Harry backed to his bed and flopped, back-first, on the covers.

The trouble was, there was somebody already lying on his bed.


	2. Dobby's Warning

CHAPTER TWO

DOBBY'S WARNING

Harry managed to roll off of the great pointy lump underneath him and land heavily on the ground by his bed with a low groan. He quickly gained his wits though, and leapt to his feet, pulling his wooden wand out his jean pocket, pointing it at the creature.

"Hello!" said the thing happily, clapping it's grubby hands together and smiling kindly.

It had great, orb-like eyes, green and glowing. It's ears were bat-like, and it wore an absolutely filthy pillow case as clothes. It had small sideburns and curled toes... stylish. Harry blinked and lowered his wand slightly.

"Harry Potter nearly killed Dobby, lying on him like that. But Dobby is not angry... he is honored! Honored to have been nearly murdered by a wizard of your greatness, sir!"

Harry blinked again, because it's healthy to blink.

"Pardon me, sir... I have not introduced myself!" piped the little animal thing. "Dobby is Dobby. Dobby which is Dobby is Dobby the house-elf. Dobby says hi. Dobby is hogging the conversation though, for Harry Potter has not said a word."

Harry edged along the wall on the other side of the room, urging his heart to quit pumping. Finally, it did settle and he opened his mouth.

"What?"

"Dobby has just told Harry Potter," said the house-elf clearly. "Does Harry Potter need his ears checked? Dobby said quite clearly that Dobby is Dobby which is Dobby the house-elf!"

Harry looked around his room, checking to see if there were cameras set up to watch his expression as though this were some type of television-based sick joke put on by the Dursleys. When there weren't though, he blinked again. WHAT THE CRUD??!

"A... house-elf, then? Well... not to be rude," he lied; he wanted to be rude, because it as fun. "but now it's exactly the greatest time to have a stupid, ugly, short, _house-elf _in my bedroom. So... leave, stupid."

"I'm sorry, sir... but Dobby will not leave. Dobby is on a mission, you see. He has come to warn Harry Potter."

The dramatic effect wouldn't have been as good unless the lights hadn't dulled so well and lit up the creatures face like they did. Harry walked over to the circuit plug console in the corner of the room and flipped the switch, so they went back to normal.

"Well... maybe we could make this quick," suggested Harry. "My relatives have guests coming downstairs..."

The clock on his bed side table now read nine o'clock sharp. To his surprise, in fact. That an hour had gone by fast. Sure enough, Harry heard the sound of car doors opening, and within seconds could hear Dudley's act playing it's role.

"May I take your pants, Ms. Mason?"

"Disturbed, ever so sorry, Mr. Mason..." Uncle Vernon was heard saying grimly. "Needs his medication, you see?"

Harry couldn't help but smirk. Dobby glanced to the door and back to Harry.

"I see you have company, which is why I came now... to black-mail you, sir," said Dobby. "Terrible things are about to happen, Harry Potter."

Harry stared the creature down. Well, this information matched his life-story. It was probably true.

"So... you're from... the wizarding world?" asked Harry, sitting down on the bed as Dobby jumped to the floor in order to give Harry more room. "You're not some cracked up joke from the Dursleys after all... no, it's alright; you can sit here."

To his horror though, the house-elf burst into tears. Noisy tears.

_"Sit... down? Sit down! Never... never in my life..."_

Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm... sorry? I'm sorry, Dobby! I didn't mean to offend you or whatever! Oh, please stop crying! Or keep crying, just shut up a little!" begged Harry.

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby had _never _been offered to sit down; like an equal! Never has he gotten up from somewhere... and a wizard greater than he has _asked _him... oh, Harry Potter!"

He hugged Harry's leg, and his shortness freaked Harry out, as though a dog were hugging him instead. But at least he'd quieted down. He now heard Aunt Petunia's high, false laugh from the living room.

"Uhm... there, there," said Harry uncertainly.

"Oh, and now he tries to comfort me!" shrieked Dobby in joy, dancing happily. The voice downstairs stopped again, and Harry screamed, not helping the problem.

In desperation, he kicked Dobby and sat back down on the bed, and Dobby wiped the tears from his eyes and lost his loud, swelling weeps.

"Finally," said Harry, getting the drift that if he was mean to Dobby, Dobby wouldn't be loud.

"Dobby apologizes."

"You've never been offered to sit down? You can't have met many decent wizards before, then," said Harry, trying to cheer him up. The cruelty reminded him of his own life with the Dursleys.

"No... I haven't!" chuckled Dobby softly. However, another issue with Dobby was discovered. Without warning, he jumped onto Harry's bedside table and began to beat himself with Dudley's old titanium baseball bat. "_Bad _Dobby_! Bad, bad, bad _elfThat's_ no!"_

Horrified, Harry leapt back to his feet and picked the elf up by the pillow case, using the tips of his fingers in order to avoid the scum on it. He pick him up high, the full length of his arm, where the creature stopped thrashing at last and settled down.

"What are you _doing_?!" hissed Harry in a low, threatening tone. "You're _trying _to get me murdered by my uncle! _Please... shut... up!_"

"Harry Potter is humble and modest," commented Dobby. "But Dobby had to punish himself, sir... for speaking ill of his family."

Harry looked straight ahead and blinked yet again. He couldn't believe his luck. What the heck was wrong with his barrier of luck and misfortune? He slowly began to lower the elf to the floor again, but hadn't even noticed the fact that the living room had grown quiet again since Dobby began to act up once more. With a seconds notice, he heard his uncle outside the door in the hallway yelling downstairs, "Dudley must have left the television on again... little tyke!"

Heart thudding madly, Harry leaped across the room and to the closet, where he threw the elf roughly into the heaps of piled clothes in the closet and closed the door just as the last dead bolt unsnapped and in burst his uncle, taking up half of the room with his vast size and round shape.

"What the bloody, ruddy, cruddy, spoot, knicker, reign, art of the medieval times of life _are you doing up here_?!" said his uncle through gritted teeth, mahogany colored.

"I'm... practicing ballet," said Harry stupidly.

"What's with the squeaky voice and all the screaming??" said Vernon wildly, flailing his arms. At that moment, a groan was heard from the closet and Uncle Vernon turned from Harry's face to the closet in time for a voice to say,_ "Socks smell funny in here!"_

Eyes wide, Mr. Dursley turned back to Harry with an astonished look. He made to get into the closet door, but Harry blocked him and thought swiftly before stating, "How do you like my new elf-like voice? I've been practicing as I dance up here! It's really changing, you see. I wanted to practice new tones so I could prank call the neighbors who don't water their lawns, make the street look terrible..."

Uncle Vernon looks utterly taken back and confused, but backed out of the room nonetheless.

"No more dancing... no more voice acting!" he said menacingly. "One more sound, and you'll wish you'll have never been born."

And with that, the great root left the room with a few clicks of locks.

"It was the TV after all! Couldn't find the remote, was all!" he was saying as he went back down the stairs. Harry wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as the closet door burst open and Dobby tumbled out, holding green and red gym sock... one that had once been Uncle Vernon's.

"This sock is smelly, but it is so beautiful at once!" he said cheerfully.

Harry sighed and sat on the bed once more with his head in his hands.

"You're quite excited about that sock, Dobby," he said lowly. "You can have it if you don't cry anymore."

"Sorry, Harry Potter; Dobby now understands how much Harry Potter doesn't know about house-elves. But clothes cannot be given to an elf but by their master, and when their master does, then they would be free."

Harry dared to look up, and faced Dobby. A trace of longing had crossed the creature's voice at his statement, but Harry wouldn't bring it up at risk of more noise and punishment.

"You'd like to be free, wouldn't you?" said Harry in awe. But he quickly caught himself, and before Dobby could answer, he said, "Never mind, never mind... so... what did you mean thirty minutes ago about, 'Terrible things are about to happen'?"

"Oh, right... at school," continued Dobby frantically. Throughout his speech, he paused and gulped many times, as though fighting a force greater than him to say all this. "If Harry Potter returns, he will be killed. Dobby knows... he heard his master speaking of things. Dobby has heard of your greatness... and how you defeated the Dark Lord twice. Dobby is magically bonded to his master, but I... do not agree with his methods and beliefs. And later I will have to punish myself for saying this and... coming here to give you a chance... but you must swear to me now, Harry Potter! I have risked... my life to come save you... please promise me that... you will not go back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The effect hit Harry like a wrought iron pot against his bare skull. He actually staggered and backed away from Dobby, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Does Harry Potter promise?" Dobby asked mercilessly.

Harry shook his head many times and opened his mouth slightly. "Hogwarts... it's my home! It's not just a school... Ron... and Hermione... I need them! They're my friends! And everyone else... I can't!"

"Ah, friends that don't even _write _to Harry Potter!" said Dobby with a smirk. Then he clapped his hands over his mouth.

"Wait... wait, how do _you _know my friends haven't been writing to... Dobby!" Harry grabbed the now-cowering elf by the neck of the pillow and held him high. "What have you doneto my letters?!" he demanded.

"I'm ever so sorry... Dobby thought... if Harry Potter believed his friends didn't care about him anymore..." Dobby reached slowly into his pillow case and pulled out a large banded bundle of letters, thick as a book. Harry felt his ears turn red with anger. "...then he may not want to go back to school, sir..."

"Give them to me... now," said Harry thunderously. "You have no idea what I would've given to have those things this whole time!"

"No!" said Dobby defiantly, and which that, Harry felt his hand release without knowledge of his will, and found himself watching Dobby scuttle across the room and out his bedroom door, which had swung magically open as he approached, the letters held close to his chest.

Infuriated, Harry took off after him. If he could only catch him before they made it to the living room...

_"Dobby!" _he called quietly, though frenzied.

Dobby halted at the bottom of the stairs as Harry arrived at the top of them. "Does Harry Potter swear not to return to school?"

Harry thought quick. "Yes! Yes, fine! I won't go!"

Dobby smiled. "Thank you, Harry Potter."

And he vanished, letters and all. Devastated, Harry slapped his forehead, hating his life. But a second later, Dobby reappeared by his shoulder with a '_pop_' and smacked him across the back of the head.

"Harry Potter was lying!" he said accusingly.

"Er... no, I wasn't," said Harry shiftily.

"Oh, yes you were," snapped Dobby. "House-elves know. Very well. If Harry Potter refuses to corporate, Dobby has no choice."

Dobby vanished again, before Harry could lung his hand at him, and re-emerged from out of the atmosphere at the bottom of the stairs. Harry moaned silently and rushed after him.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang into the empty kitchen and realized that the Masons and Dursleys were in the living room. He saw Dobby scampering up to the fridge as Uncle Vernon was saying, "... tell Petunia that very humorous story concerning those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to hear..."

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of sweets and cream, was suddenly lifting to the ceiling from the top of the fridge, levitated by magic. Harry watched in horror as Dobby guided the chef-d'oeuvre across the room and into the living room. Harry followed swiftly.

When in the living, he watched as the pudding arrived over the top of Aunt Petunia and Ms. Mason's heads. He felt his stomach simply disappear. Desperate, he held out his own hands and tried to summon it back to him, but without any effect.

"One more chance, sir," said Dobby deathly quietly. "Please..."

"No," croaked Harry. "Please... they'll kill me..."

"Harry Potter must say he will not go back to school–"

"Dobby... please... I'm begging you..."

"Say it, sir..."

"I can't–"

Dobby gave him an aggrieved look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir. For Harry Potter's own good."

The pudding fell atop Ms. Mason, Petunia and Dudley's heads. The splatter reached the walls, and even drenched Vernon and Mr. Mason on the other side of the room. The couch was basically a purplish color now, and everyone screamed and turned to look accusingly at Harry. Dobby vanished as Harry realized his despairing hands were still outstretched in attempt to halt the disaster. It looked so obviously that he had done it that he screamed in terror.

After a moment or two, Uncle Vernon whirled on Mr. Mason.

"I'm so sorry... it's our nephew... he'd very disturbed; mentally challenged. Acts funny when around strangers, see? Please don't– oh, no– no, please don't leave! Mr. Mason!"

Mr. and Mrs. Mason were at the door.

"No, no, no– I need that raise! It's not my fault that my son is a perverted imbecile and my nephew is a mental cow! Without you, what will I do? Where will I go??"

Mr. Mason put on his hat as Ms. Mason replaced her pants, which Dudley had hung neatly on the coat rack.

"I'm sorry Vernon; but frankly... I don't give a damn."

Vernon sobbed as Petunia pat him comfortingly on the shoulder. Dudley licked the pudding off of the couch as the Masons got in their car and escaped. The faint voice of Mr. Mason could be heard as he drove away, _"And you're not that funny!"_

Harry ran for his life. But Uncle Vernon remembered his presence and totally tackled him. He walloped him and beat the stuffing right out of him. Even Petunia kicked him a bit, and the torture ended with Dudley sitting on Harry's head and farting. Harry beat his fist on the carpet, screaming for freedom.

It probably would've went on, too. But at that moment, a brown owl burst in through the glass window and totally landed, twitching, on the carpet, glass sticking out of it's wings. Uncle Vernon rushed and grabbed the letter attached to its leg and stuffed the body of the owl in the oven for safekeeping, unable to stand the fact that such an abnormal creature was lying in his kitchen floor. He thrust the letter with a demonic glint in his small eyes at Harry and evilly hissed, "Well? Read it!"

Harry quickly took the letter and ripped open the wax seal. It was no birthday greeting.

**Dear Mr. Potter,**

**We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes before ten.**

**As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to preform spells outside of school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Yadda Yadda, Blah, Blah, 1873, Paragraph Z)**

**Also remember that any magical activity around Muggles will result in exposure to our wizarding world, and you will be punished more severely in that case. Whoopin'! Wooo!**

** Enjoy your holidays!**

** Yours sincerely,**

** Mafalda Hopkirk**

** IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE**

** _ Ministry of Magic_**

Harry looked up from that letter and gulped. Throughout the holiday he'd been using his I-Be-A-Wizard abilities in order to make the Dursleys be nicer than normal... especially Dudley. Now... well, so much for that fun.

"You didn't tell us your weren't allowed to use magic," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam in his focused eye. "Forgot to mention it, I daresay... slipped your mind, perhaps..."

He was beaming down at Harry with a unnatural joy. "Well, I've got news for you, boy... you're never going back to that school! I'm locking you up for years– generations! You'll never leave that room, and if you do, I'll eat you! Mwahahahahaha!"

And, laughing like a maniac, he drug Harry upstairs by the scruff of the neck. He threw him into the room and locked the doors before going back out, and Harry had a bad feeling that his uncle's word was as good anything.

But, as a last stroke of happiness for him, Harry saw on his bed the bundle of letters from Ron and Hermione. Despite his bad luck, he headed towards them, picked a letter off of the top, lay down on his bed and he began to read it, smiling.


	3. The Burrow

CHAPTER THREE

THE BURROW

Harry was surprised to see how mellow and relaxed the letters began, but as he made his way to the bottom of the pile, how they grew anxious and worried, some stating in bold letters, _"Are you alright? Please message me back, or I'll break into your house and make you write to me myself!"_ But then again, that was from Ron.

The next morning, Harry woke up to something large, oddly shaped, and purple protruding through his bedroom window. It was angry-looking, with small, bulging eyes, and it had barely any neck. It was horrible.

"OH MY GOD! ARRRGGHHHH!" screamed Harry groggily.

"Shut your mouth, Potter," said Uncle Vernon from the window.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry madly, scrambling to place his glasses on his nose and hurrying to the window. Uncle Vernon was on a ladder above the garden. He held a rather vicious looking hammer.

"Being true to my word, you abnormality," he sneered with a rustle of his mustache. "You'll never escape me, NEVER!"

Harry coughed and turned to Hedwig's cage. He noticed her food bowl empty, and he looked down further to discover that she was out of owl treats as well.

"Hedwig is out of food. And she is going to make a lot more noise if I don't run down to the store to get some more–"

"Oh, very clever, Harry," jeered his uncle distractedly, hammering away on a window pane. He was taken back when it broke. "But no way. You aren't leaving for any reason... you'll run away... or go ask your wizarding friends to help you escape! Nope. I'm not that thick."

Harry personally thought he was.

"She can't just starve!" he insisted.

"Oh, don't you worry. If you need it so bad, I'll have Dudders run down to the market and get a few canary nips... but until then, you're staying _right there._"

Harry grumbled, but spotted the soapy soup from last night on the counter still. He rushed to get it, then returned to Hedwig's cage and poured some of the broth in her water bowl and some of the soggy, cold vegetables in her food bin. She nipped up some of it, then backed up, flapping her wings angrily. She gave him a reproachfully enraged look, and Harry whispered, "Tell Uncle Vernon. He's the one."

Hedwig did just that. She turned to Uncle Vernon and said clearly, "You're a cow. Give me a real meal." No... she clicked her beak as Harry used his Leatherman to pick the lock on the cage. When it clicked, he smirked and the cage popped open. He sneakily began to urge her out, but it barely took any attempt. She soared out willingly, wings outstretched. Next thing Harry knew, Uncle Vernon was looking up from his work to see what had happened and screamed as Hedwig zoomed at him. He bellowed in hazard and tried to shield himself from her slapping wings. Harry laughed out loud.

"Get it off of me! Petunia! Dudley! HELP!"

For the whole afternoon after that, Harry watched amusingly as Hedwig openly taunted Dudley and Uncle Vernon, who were swatting things at her and trying to get her down from the middle of the street. Harry cracked up the whole time, and after two hours of her causing them to run into each other while looking up instead of where they were going, he called her name and beckoned her back inside. Before ascending to his room though, Hedwig made sure to steal a coconut cream pie from Mr. and Mrs. Number Five's windowsill and bringing it back to him. And since Uncle Vernon had already sealed the door to his room with a massive plastic coating thing and had inserted a food slot in the center for small meals everyday, there was no way of getting the pie back from them.

So Hedwig and Harry enjoyed their seemingly last happy moment for a while. They shared the pie, and Harry shared his small supply of rain water from last spring which he got from the drips coming from the crack in the ceiling, which they both drank conservatively. And they felt really stupid when twenty minutes after forcing the filthy liquid down, Aunt Petunia slipped a glass of cleaner water through the slot with a piece of bread and butter.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley worked together, (though Mr. Dursley did most of the work as Dudley jabbered about a show on television) to attach bars to Harry's window. But Harry didn't care. At least he could still see out the window; he hadn't exactly planned on slipping out the screen and down thirty feet anyways, so why would the bars irritate him? He already knew the Dursleys didn't trust him, so why care what they did in his behalf?

About six more nights and days past. Hedwig grew annoyed and resorted to flapping like wild, trying to tick off Uncle Vernon downstairs. But instead, she only made Harry more irritated as Uncle Vernon purposely tended to go outside or leave in the car to escape the sound. Aunt Petunia worked in the hot garden that week, and Dudley had too much fat around his small eardrums to hear anything.

So that night, Harry went to bed, stomach grumbling, and dreamt of Dobby riding on Uncle Vernon's shoulders and awing at Harry in a barred cage at a City Zoo.

"Harry Potter is safe there!" squeaked the parasite, and with a crack like a whip, Dobby was gone.

The crack literally awoke Harry, and he sat bolt right up. There was a knocking on his window... Uncle Vernon had finished nailing bars to the window hours ago... why would he still be out there? Curious, Harry got out of bed and stumbled tiredly to the window once more. It wasn't Uncle Vernon at all.

It was Ron Weasley.

"_Ron?!?_"

"Hullo, Harry," said Ron with a grin. "How you doing?"

"What– _what are you doing here?!_" spluttered Harry.

"Oh, we were just going for a ride, and I thought, 'Hey. Let's visit Harry!'" said Ron exasperatedly. "We're here to rescue you! I knew something had happened; look at the state of you!"

Harry guessed he must have looked bad, but didn't look girlishly in the mirror to check what Ron meant. He was too preoccupied with the great flying Ford Anglia Ron was in.

"Where did you– oh, never mind..." said Harry, shaking his head. Hedwig hooted, impressed. "Listen, Ron... I need you to go to Dumbledore, or anyone else whose taller than me, and tell them that the Dursleys have me trapped here and aren't letting me go to Hogwarts ever again!"

"Load of rubbish," said a familiar voice from behind Ron. Ron rolled his eyes.

"We're taller than you," added a similar one. "And even if we weren't here, Ickle Ronniekins wouldn't be able to remember that great message anyways..."

"So don't trust him..." said Fred.

"... trust us!" finished George.

The twins smirked mischievously. Ron leaned back and walloped both of them with his wand, probably leaving welts in place. They only laughed.

"Can't you guys do anything funnier than finish each other's sentences!?" barked Ron at them.

"N– wait," Fred pondered wonderingly. "No, that's pretty much all we can do."

"Listen," said Harry. "Not that it isn't great to see you guys, but if the Dursleys hear you, we'll all get in trouble, what with the government, Uncle Vernon and Dudley sitting on us all..."

"What're they gonna do?" yawned Fred. "Get a frying pan and chase us? Plgh... Muggles and their 'defenses'."

"No, wait, Fred," said George in a suddenly quivering voice. "What if they... what if they eat us!?!"

Fred squealed in fake fright and pretended to faint in agony.

"It's likely," said Harry with an uncontrolled grin. "Uncle Vernon and Dudley will probably eat anything that sits still long enough."

"Would you gits shut up?" bawled Ron to his brothers. "Come on, Harry... we aren't here to be message boys. We're gonna take you to the Burrow."

"The Burrow?"

"Our house... lovely little shack," said George adoringly.

"Dad also told us that you got arrested for using illegal magic," said Ron with a look. "You know we aren't to use magic outside of school!"

"I didn't just use magic. It was a... well... I'll tell you in a bit. I haven't been able to message you back because Uncle Vernon has locked up Hedwig and forbade me to let her out."

Fred looked disgusted. "Cruelty..." he muttered. "Then again, look at Scabbers, Ron. I'd hate to be trapped in your pocket too."

"And speaking of not able to use magic," Harry stopped for a split second and listened for Uncle Vernon, who had given a rather loud snort in his sleep. No sound followed, but more deep breathing; a signal of sleep. "You've got room to talk!"

He brandished a finger accusingly at the Ford Anglia, floating outside of his window. It was sky blue.

"Ah, so what? This isn't magic. This is an illusion," said Ron carelessly. "And we aren't waving our wands, so there. But trust me, when we get home, Mum's going to lose her sanity about what we've done here. It'll be worth it, though. So go on, get your things! We're waiting."

Harry sighed and got his Leatherman from next to Hedwig's cage. He whipped out the best tool for pickpocketing and moved to the door.

"Hold up, what's that thing?" asked Fred curiously.

"Only the best Muggle tool ever! It's a Leatherman!" said Harry proudly. He jabbed the point into the door and turned, and all the locks clicked. The door swung open slightly, prevented from moving more from the plastic coating thing outside the door. Harry used the Almighty dangerous knife of the Leatherman to rip through the plastic, leaving pieces hanging here and there.

"Our Dad's a Muggleantic. He loves this kind of stuff. Be sure to bring it with you."

"Don't worry. I will," said Harry in an obvious tone. He tip-toed downstairs and picked the lock to the cupboard under the stairs, then came back with a Harry full of books, broom and parchment.

"My trunk's still down there," he said.

"No matter," said Fred and George in sync. They crawled over Ron, who grumbled and said, "Ooff!" slid in between the bars and easily into the room. The swept past Harry and down the stairs, giggling.

"A load of nitwicks," muttered Ron darkly, and he helped Harry pass each item through the slim bars and into the back of the car. By the time everything was inside and Harry had just finished passing his broomstick through, Fred and George were returning with the trunk, each one carrying either side. They set it down in front of the window and Harry set Hedwig's cage atop that. Fred crawled back through the bars and into the back of the car as George stayed with Harry.

"Are you sure that's all you're bringing?" asked Ron quickly, as Fred returned to the front with a hooked rope thing. He attached the hook with a slight cling around a bar. Harry looked around the room and picked up Uncle Vernon's old gym sock; the one Dobby said he'd liked. He also grabbed a crayon drawn picture of a barn owl he'd drawn when severely bored. He handed the items to Ron, who took a look at the owl and the sock.

"Nice," he said with a grin. "Classy. A dirty old sock and a crayon picture of Hedwig."

"No... Hedwig is a snowy owl. That's a barn owl," said Harry indignantly, thumbs in his pockets. Harry quickly snapped the room door closed and George pulled out his wand quickly.

"I've already been blamed for magic I haven't committed, I don't need more on my record!" said Harry hastily.

"Don't worry," assured George. "This is barely a spell... it's like Lumos. You can use it in emergencies, and it'll be fine with the Ministry."

"Not with Mum, though," said Ron with a frown.

"Who cares," coughed George. "We'll deal with that woman later... for now; Loculum!"

Harry listened carefully for Uncle Vernon as the sound of all of the locks clicked.

"Great! That way, if your uncle hears this–"

"–which he most likely will, by the way–"

"–then we'll have a minute's notice and a bit of an advantage, time-wise."

"Cool," said Harry unsurely.

"Now... punch it, Ron!" said Fred dramatically.

Harry held his breath as Ron stepped on the gas. The engine roared loudly and burst forward, ripping the bars, (and half of the wall) off of the house and down thirty feet into the garden; it was followed by the loudest boom, and George and Harry watched more as a single piece of the window broke apart from the rest of the piece and zoomed across the sky and into the distance. Seconds later, they heard a man cry in pain and the wild barking of a dog. They laughed.

"Ha ha!" said Harry like Nelson, pointing into the distance and unable to resist.

Harry then felt his heart lurch; Uncle Vernon could be heard stomping about in the next room, bellowing in a groggy voice, "THAT RUDDY OWL!"

Hedwig basically put her wings on her hips and clicked her tongue, taken back.

"At least he got it right this time! He usually calls her a canary!" laughed Harry, assisting George quickly in heaving his portable trunk through the window and into the trunk of the car.

Uncle Vernon was now angrily fiddling with the plastic barrier Harry had ripped through on the way out and was fumbling with the locks. Harry was crawling into the car when something behind him hooted indignantly.

"Harry! Hedwig!" said Ron loudly.

Harry screamed girlishly and turned back around. He rushed to the owl's cage, which they'd set next to the trunk before carrying it out, but accidentally kicked it over so that the cage rolled away, Hedwig screaming. The last click unlocked and Harry screamed more. He grabbed the cage by sticking his fingers in between one of the little side bars and, feeling sorry for poor Hedwig inside, tumbling around and cawing in fright, threw her through the window and luckily, Ron caught her and threw her in the back. Once in the back with Fred and, now, George, she bit them.

"OW!"

Harry then lunged through the window as well as the door burst open and the radish-rhinoceros hybrid burst into the room and at him, Aunt Petunia watching through the open doorway. He made it, unharmed, and Ron pulled forward so Uncle Vernon couldn't get in.

Harry cheered and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"That'll teach you!" said Ron out the window of the car, hovering a few feet from the Dursley's reach. Uncle Vernon awed at the car. "Yeah... that's right. We're in a flying Ford Anglia... what are you gonna do about it?!"

"That's enough, Ron," said Harry. "I don't need him to murder me next summer." But then he saw an opportunity he couldn't resist. "But... oh, who cares! Shall we taunt him?"

"Definitely!" boomed the Weasleys.

Ron backed slowly up to the window, and Harry stuck his arm out, almost just long enough for his uncle to grab. And Vernon tried, but Harry jerked it away and the car dodged him sideways. The Weasleys and Harry roared.

"Petunia! He's escaping!"

Harry did it again, but pulled it away before Vernon could reach. They did that for about thirty minutes before finally yawning, all of their lungs coughed up and twitching on the floor of the Anglia from laughing so hard.

"Come on, I'm bored now. He's too gullible for this anyways... the outcome is irrefutable." said George smartly. "Let's go to the Burrow."

"How do you know what 'irrefutable' means?" said Ron in disbelief, as he drove them towards the stars in the inky black sky.

"Why, Ronald," said Fred, trying to sound taken back. "I never have!"

Harry leaned out the window and squinted at the Dursleys, who were leaning out the window together watching him in awe as he drove away in this magical car with three other wizards.

"See you next summer!" called Harry to Uncle Vernon, who had his mouth half-open. Ron and the twins howled with laughter.

Harry pulled himself in the window and watched Privet Drive until it was a tiny speck in the distance, grinning ear to ear.

After that, no one spoke. Ron put the car on auto-drive and leaned back, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Yep," said Ron.

"Yep," said George.

"Mmhmm," said Fred.

There was a slight pause.

"Yep," said Harry.

"So... what's up? Why haven't you been answering my letters?" said Ron after so long. "I've been having to write to Hermione instead, and do you know how hard it is to keep up with that? She's always using words like, 'enunciate' and 'adjudicate'. What the bloody hell does, 'adjudicate' mean, anyway?!"

"So, what Ron's trying to say is... why were you locked up?" translated Fred for Harry.

"Oh. Well... a house-elf named Dobby was on my bed in my room, and my aunt and uncle were having company..." and he told them.

"Hmm... fishy," said Fred. "Speaking of fish, maybe it was Draco Malfoy's idea of a joke. His father _is _so obviously a Death Eater."

"What's fish got to do with Malfoy?" asked Harry curiously.

"Erm... I don't know, I guess I just wanted to use the idiom 'fishy,'" shrugged Fred.

Ron blinked. Here we go with that again.

"Am I the only person left who speaks _English_?!" he shouted. Harry laughed, joyous since he and Hedwig had been freed.

"Wait– Fred, George– where's Hed?" he asked at once.

"Dunno," said Fred worriedly. Harry screamed. Fred laughed. "No, she's right here..."

Harry shook his fist in anger at him.

"Give her here... she's been cooped up since the beginning of summer. I think we'll let her fly alongside the car... to stretch her wings."

"Good idea," said Ron, rolling down his window as Harry opened Hedwig's cage. She quickly tumbled out of the cage and nipped Harry affectionately on the nose, taking a huge chuck out, and kicked Ron in the cheek as she flew out the window and into the breeze. Harry and Ron both screamed in pain, Ron having a claw-slashed cheek and Harry bleeding from Hed's nip.

"That freaking moose!" he yelled, covering his nose.

Fred gave him a handkerchief to wipe up the mess and George kicked Ron in the cheek too.

"GEORGE, YOU GIT!"

"Watch the road," said George carelessly. "You're driving."

"IT'S ON AUTO-DRIVE, YOU IDIOT!"

"Well, I'm bored," yawned Harry. "You'd expect you guys breaking me out of my home prison and flying to freedom in a flying car would be exciting, but it's really not."

"Cheers," said Fred.

"Okay then, when we go home, I've devised a plan to trick Mum into thinking we didn't take the car out for a spin..." said George as Ron continued to fume. "So... Fred and I will go to our room when we arrive home. Meanwhile, Ron and Harry can go to Ron's room... we'll take a quick snooze, then, when mum comes downstairs to make breakfast, Ron and us all will come bounding downstairs and distract her as Harry climbs down the ladder outside our house and down to the front door. Then, he'll ring the doorbell, Ron'll answer it, and say, 'Hey, Mum! Look whose turned up at complete random!'"

There was a silence.

"There are so many problems with that, I can't even point out one." said Fred enthusiastically, wiping a tear from his eye. "And, hopefully, Mum won't either. It'll have to do."

"But how do we explain the fact that Harry's just traveled half-way across London on foot?" asked Ron, an eyebrow raised. "_And _knew where we lived when he's never been here before?"

"Good acting?" shrugged Fred.

But the subject became so thought of from that point on that it was soon forgotten out of mere lack of care.

It was near daybreak when the car finally began to coast down and towards the ground, and as soon the mist of clouds vaporized on the windshield and Harry got his first glance at the Burrow.

It was like a crooked house with small rooms added here and there, probably held up by nothing but magic, and was surrounded by fields of grass, pigpens and small sheds. It was cleverly messy, but not enough to bother, and Harry felt warm at the orange cast of dawn over the perfect picture.

"It's not much," said Ron. "Just some cruddy old, crackpot-designed, lump of a house."

"I think it's brilliant!" said Harry in adoration.

The car landed. "Well, we didn't ask your opinion, now, did we, Harry?" said George irritatedly.

"It's horrible when every wizarding family in the world–" said Fred.

"– more specifically, Slytherins and the rich _Ministry of Magic _people–" added George.

"– think your family is rubbish just because we don't have money and we built our house out of magic and who knows what the rest is."

"There's an upside, though, young Harry," said George in a fatherly tone.

"We have a pet ghoul in our attic!" said Ron. "Irritating, ugly and spooky at first, but once you get used to the constant plumbing clanging and moaning, he's quit fun to get along with. Everytime a Slytherin, like Malfoy and his dad, come by for a 'friendly visit,' we sick the ghoul on them and it's loads of fun to watch them scream."

Harry was intrigued by it all, and didn't know what to ask first. "Why were Malfoy and his dad here?"

"To taunt us. His father Lucius wanted to talk to our dad about 'Ministry' stuff, but we bet it was only an excuse to see our house. After that, Malfoy made fun of us at school, knowing we were low on money, and Lucius made fun of dad openly at work! So now we're a laughing stalk of the world!"

"Who cares about the Malfoys anyway?" said Harry angrily. "They've got no taste! Hey. Ha ha... look at that fat woman!"

Harry pointed rudely to a red-haired fat lady jiggling out of the house.

"Whose that? The maid!? Hahahaha!" Harry was being obnoxious. No one else was laughing.

"That's our mother," said George testily.

Harry drank some water, then spewed it all over the car (mostly on Ron though) in surprise.

"Err... no, not _her,_" said Harry nervously. He looked around quickly for anything that may help, then thankfully pointed to a washing machine in the muddy pigpen ahead of them. "_Her_!"

"OH!" said everyone, chuckling awkwardly.

"Yeah, wasn't talking about your Mum, I sure wasn't," coughed Harry with a shifty grin. "I mean who would... do that? You know?"

But the others were done with it by now. They all looked green and rather sick.

"Should be run now?" said Ron quietly, trembling.

"No can do, young brother," said George in a deep voice. "We must stand our ground as men against the woman, and show her whose boss. Come on, you lot."

He led the way out of the car. Fred and him took the lead with Harry and Ron close behind. Suddenly, and with a glance behind them first, Fred and George took off to meet their Mum before them.

"Mommy!" they cried together. Fred stood on one side of her as George stood on the other; they whirled in sync and both pointed fingers straight at Ron. "It was his idea. He drove, and we were _prisoners_! He black mailed us, we swear! I mean, look at our innocent little faces."

They gave her looks. She seemed to be buying it, but soon kicked them down and grabbed each by an ear, dragging them toward Harry and Ron instead.

"Oh Lord... MUM, IT WASN'T ME! They were torturing Harry; put bars on his windows, they did. We saved them! Those blokes are too thick to see that we–"

"Oh, shut up, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley dropped Fred and George in a heap at her feet. Harry tried to conceal a grin as Fred cried. "NO NOTE! CAR GONE! YOU COULD'VE DIED– YOU COULD'VE BEEN SEEN! WHAT HARRY'S AUNT AND UNCLE MUST'VE THOUGHT OF US...! HOW DARE YOU ALL!"

"But–"

"Don't 'but' me!" she bellowed down at them. "You KNOW not to take your father's bloody bewitched Muggle toys– and do you remember what he said when you asked about Harry yesterday? He said _he'd _go get Harry himself! Didn't you listen to _that_?!"

"Oh, like the Dursleys needed him to come bursting into their fireplace like a madman!" said Ron loudly, daring to say anything. "I doubt they would enjoy him burning their bloody house down anymore than seeing us in a flying car by their window!"

Mrs. Weasley took a moment of surprise at his talk-back; obviously nobody's ever spoken back to her before. Then she said, "But it would've been more _safe _if an _adult _went, rather than three feisty boys who aren't responsible enough to feed the pigs!"

"I feed the pigs, Mum!" said George loudly.

"I fed them before we left last night at around twelve!" said Ron.

"I feed on pigs," said Harry. Mrs. Weasley turned in surprise to him, as though she had only just realized he was there.

"Oh hello, Harry, dear," she said kindly. "You look as thin as a paper, dear– very peaky indeed! Hurry up and get inside, I'll fix you something..."

And, still scowling at her boys, she pushed Harry inside, as though he were getting thinner by the second.

She quickly pulled out her wand and began to fix supper. "Ron, go show Harry your room. Your father should be here anytime now."

Harry clearly enjoyed the interior of the house. On the way up the stairs, Mrs. Weasley added to Ron, "Don't go flying any more cars when you leave my sight again!"

"Won't Mum," he lied.

They went up many fleets of stairs, leaving Fred and George alone with their angry mother. As they finally approached the door to Ron's room, Ron said, "This is it."

"This is the greatest house I've ever been in, Ron." said Harry truthfully, as Ron grabbed the door handle.

Ron paused and his ears went red.


	4. At Flourish and Blotts

So, yeah, I doubt you want to want to hear from me, and if you've gotten this far, I tip my hat to you. This chapter is freakishly long, because the timing from the other chapters went off a bit and I needed to get caught up here; so enjoy, please write reviews, and please have a good time.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN FLOURISH AND BLOTTS

This is brilliant!" said Harry loudly.

The room was orange and small, though there were moving posters of every shape and size pinned to every spot on the wall. Ron walked in rather proudly and examined a round billboard of his obvious favorite Quidditch team, The Chudley Cannons, before lying flat on his back on his long bed. Harry secretly hated the room, and quickly planned to catch it on fire before leaving the Burrow.

"Yeah... like I said; it's not much. But it's home," he added.

"Ron, I don't understand why _anyone _wouldn't like this house," said Harry 'truthfully'. "It's homey. Not too clean... not too dirty... classy, that's what. So quit saying that it's not much."

"Dad doesn't get that much money, and all of our bills pretty much go to rights to the Ministry for keeping his Muggle junk and rights to keep the magic holding this house up going so near the town across those fields," said Ron, pointing with his foot through a tiny triangular window above the vent in front of him. "As for the rest of us, we don't get much and have to buy everything second hand."

"Your Dad has to _pay _to keep his Muggle things here?" asked Harry incredulously, watching the nearest broom-riding poster character race a butterfly that had entered the shot. "Why?! Normal Muggles get to have whatever they want with _them_ without any permits!"

"Well, Dad _works_ for the Ministry; and he studiesMuggle _artifacts _or whatever," said Ron lazily, shutting his eyes. "... but since he keeps bewitching them– like the car out there– the Ministry thinks that it would be safest to have expensive, classified charms to keep the things he has out there protected from the Muggles that may come visit. Like, if one came to borrow our lawnmower... instead of it attacking them, they wouldn't see it there. Actually... it's the same with the whole house. It's like Hogwarts, you see? If a Muggle came up to it, they wouldn't see it at all."

"Can't you cast the charms yourself?" asked Harry slowly, trying to discover a method to help his friend's finical situation.

"That's the problem, though, isn't it?" said Ron, turning to his left side. "Spells the Ministry are keeping secret... they WANT us to have to pay for them. The whole family is forced to go somewhere else for about an hour every year when it's time to update the charm; that way we don't hear the incantation. It really sucks. One time, though, Fred and George snuck back here when I was about five... heard the incantation and all that. But when they came back, they couldn't get the words out of their mouth. Jinxed."

"So... you can't just... stop putting the charms up and hope for the best? That no one will come round?"

"No way. Tried that once... whole house nearly collapsed in one day. That's why people make fun of us; the way our house s designed. It's ridiculous. But once the house was built and all our things were in it, it was home, wasn't it? Couldn't exactly quit paying to literally keep the place standing, could we?"

Harry sighed. It must have been tough to have to have chose between losing your lifetime home and paying an extremely high bill that prevented the rest of the family from general opportunities.

"Anyways, this is my room and your welcome in it whenever," said Ron finally, rolling the side of the bed, sitting up straight and stretching his arms.

"Er... but where will I sleep?" asked Harry, casting a nervous look at the radiator in the corner of the room as a moan and a bit of clanging pots were heard. Ron noticed and beat his fist on the wall of the bed behind him.

"Oi! Shut up a bit, will you? Be kind for the guest!" he boomed. He backed up and faced Harry again.

"What is that?" he said curiously.

"I told you in the car, Harry... our pet ghoul," answered Ron in an obvious tone. "Oh, and you'll not be sleeping with him tonight. He tends not to be good company. You can have the bed, and I'll take the fold-out couch thing Dad installed about a month ago; he wanted me to test it out and see if it works properly. I bet you a Galleon it doesn't."

Harry grinned as Mrs. Weasley's voice thundered at the bottom of the stairs, "Breakfast is ready! Your Father's arrived, Ron, make sure you're decent when you come down," she added.

Ron scratched his neck and chuckled awkwardly, then said lowly, "Come on. Let's go meet Dad."

"You've never met your own Dad?" said Harry in surprise, following him out of the room again.

When they got downstairs, Mrs. Weasley had the table set. It was covered in toast, jams, a stick of butter, a jar of milk, waffles, sprouts for some reason, scrambled eggs, roasted sausages and kibbles. Harry took a seat hastily next to Ron and realized how hungry he really was. After all, he hadn't eaten properly since a week back, and then it had been only of a slice of bread and moldy cheese from Aunt Petunia.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said politely. She waved a hand sheepishly at him and smiled.

"Ohh, it was nothing," she said swiftly.

Harry examined the rows of books on the bookshelves and the attributes of a wizard's house. Never having been in one before, he was amazed by the clock on the opposite wall that had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edges instead were things like, _Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, _and _You're late. _The books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese, 1 Second Meals, 2000 Recipes for Vinegar, _and _The Difference Between Kibbles and Bits._

But then the door opened.

"Hey, Dad," said his three present boys; Ron, Fred and George.

"Hello, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley, pecking her husband on the cheek as she carried a platter of pancakes to the table. "How was work?"

Mr. Weasley sat absentmindedly in an open chair, took his glasses off and closed his eyes, a hand perched faintfully on his forehead. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he did have was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for a teapot on the table as his wife sat down by him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to hex me when my back was turned..."

Mr. Weasley put down the teapot he had aimlessly grabbed and instead fumbled with a glass of coffee that he found. He took a long gulp and sighed.

"Can't believe what our lot have taken in and chanted, then given to Muggles for jokes! It's cruel! Why would anyone want to charm silly little things like–"

"CARS, FOR INSTANCE?!"

Mrs. Weasley had suddenly stood up. It appeared to Harry as though she had been waiting for the perfect moment to yell that since Mr. Weasley had come in. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open, now awake, as he stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, _cars_," said Mrs. Weasley testily, her eyes flashing. "Imagine this for a moment. Buying a rusty old car and telling your spouse that all you wanted to do with it was to take it apart, just to see how it worked, while _really _enchanting it to make it _fly. _Now wouldn't that be humorous? You know I'd lose my marbles if that _really_ happened.Especially if that person's three sons took that car across the country to their friend Harry Potter's house, and took him back home with them!"

She was fuming. Arthur didn't get it for a moment, pulling the collar of his robes nervously out to let some air cool him off. He blinked. Then he slowly looked down from her flaming face and tardily scanned the kitchen table with squinted eyes, looking for any new faces. He saw Fred, who smiled and waved girlishly. He passed over George, who winked gaily. Then he went over Ron until reaching the end of the table–

"Harry Potter!?" he said in awe, leaning in closer and putting his glasses back on to see better. Fred and George howled with laughter at his ignorance as Mrs. Weasley smacked her husband angrily over the top of the head.

"You imbecile, how could you let this happen?" she said in a deathly whisper. "_Your sons flew that bloody car to Harry's house and back last night! _What have you got to say about _that_?!"

She waited impatiently. Mr. Weasley thought frantically for whatever to say that would shut her up, but instead said eagerly to his boys, "Did you really? How'd it go?!"

Harry actually watched as sparks shot from Mrs. Weasley's eyes and hit the walls, bombarding around the room now, as she came at Mr. Weasley, now carrying a rolling pin. Mr. Weasley screamed in terror. He feverishly turned to the boys, seeming smaller than usual.

"...erk... that was very wrong, boys... very wrong indeed."

He turned back to his wife, smiling nervously, as though that had taken care of the manner. Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. Ron leaned to the middle of the table, where he met Harry, Fred and George's heads. "Let's leave it to them, shall we?"

They all slipped out of the kitchen and a down narrow passageway and then met a door that they crossed through. Outside the Burrow was now bright and blinding in the nine o'clock sun.

"Well, we could de-gnome the yard," yawned Fred. "Because I doubt Mum will let us rest in peace from our heroic journey to Harry's house. and back. I would've expected her to be proud."

George wiped an invisible tear from his eye as Fred sniffed. Ron nodded and led the way into the nearest shed, where he handed out thick, ripped dragon-hide gloves to each of them. Harry was bewildered, though said nothing as they crossed the yard to the garden.

The garden was thick, and barely a garden at all. There were probably more weeds than actual plants, and there were definitely more dead things than live things. But it was the type of cluster Harry enjoyed, more home-like than Aunt Petunia's robotic rows of peas and turnips that looked remarkably like Uncle Vernon himself. Harry found himself sniffing deeply the aroma of something flowery he couldn't spot, but stopped in his tracks when he saw what he did.

Gnomes were not the little Travolosity British things you would see in Muggles commercials and yards. They were feisty, potato-like animals that were tiny, grubby and dirty. Several little plump gnomes wandered around from under bushes and in between flower beds, scratching their backs every now and then. Harry blinked.

"Aren't we... moving plastic flamingos into the shed?" he said cautiously. Fred and George exchanged glances and shrugged.

"There people go speaking gibberish again," said Ron in outrage, throwing his hands in the air.

"It's just... oh, never mind..." said Harry.

"Now what you want to do when de-gnoming," said Fred, stalking up to one of the fatter gnomes and quickly grabbing it by the leg, swinging it upside down so that it wiggled and grunted, trying to get free. "Is grab them like this..."

"Gerroff me!"

"... swing them round," he exampled this act, swinging his whole body in three... four... five circles. "And... throw them into the fields!"

He let go of the stubby ankles and off flew the gnome, across the sky and away into the landscape, past the stone fence that bordered the Burrow from beyond. Harry watched in awe, grinning, as the thing hit the ground in the distance and shook his fist back at them, waddling back home.

"Look, though... he's coming back," alerted Harry, watching it limp home.

"Yeah, well... so what?" said Ron. "This way is fun."

Harry felt sympathy for the creature as George grabbed himself a gnome too. "Pitiful, Fred. I bet I could get mine beyond that stump out there..."

Harry quickly learned quickly not to feel sorry for the things. He decided to just drop his first one over the stone wall, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's middle finger.

"MY FLIPPING FINGER!" he had bellowed in pain, having a hard time shaking it off– until–

"Wow, Harry... that one must have gone fifty feet..."

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

Mrs. Weasley woke them all up early the following Wednesday. Life at the Weasleys was definitely better than life at the Dursleys; and life at the Hogwarts was better than life at the Dursleys and the Weasleys. Harry realized with a start that he had too many lives.

After half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and Mrs Weasley took a flowerpot off of the kitchen mantelpiece as the family surrounded the fireplace. Finally Harry got confused enough to ask, "Whats going on?"

Mrs. Weasley looked at him incredulously.

"Didn't Ron...?" she peered around Harry at him, who had a mouth stuffed with bacon from the stove. He looked in surprise at both his mother, Fred, George and Harry staring at him and he smiled, bacons particles falling out of his mouth and onto the carpet. Mrs. Weasley looked displeased.

"Nice," said George, arms crossed.

"–lou phits!" muttered Ron angrily.

"Lou Phits? Whoever is that, young Ronald?" asked Fred pleasantly.

"That's enough," said Mrs. Weasley, redirecting attention to Harry. "We're going to Diagon Alley! Gilderoy Lockhart is at Flourish and Blotts today!"

And she looked dreamy from that time on. She lazily handed him the flowerpot after ushering him into the fire pit. There, Harry blinked.

"Well, go on then!" said Mrs. Weasley in a rush.

Harry looked down at the pot. There was glistening green dust in it.

"Is this like... an urn?" he asked as Ron's year younger sister Ginny skid downstairs and arrived in the living room, her long curtain of red hair flailing neatly behind her.

"That's Floo Powder," Mrs. Weasley said in a worried tone.

"Oh," said Harry uncertainly. "Well, what am I supposed to do with it? The name doesn't really explain what it is as much as I would've hoped."

"Oh yes! You grew up with _Muggles!_" smacked Mrs. Weasley in cluenesscome. "Well, in that case, Ron–" she jerked the pot from Harry, pulled him out of the fireplace and stuffed Ron into the fire and the pot into his chest instead. Ron took a pinch of the dust out and threw it to his feet, yelling clearly, "Diagon Alley!"

Harry nearly screamed and rushed in to help pull Ron out. Green flames burst around Ron and exploded, and no Ron was left. Why had no one else helped him??

"WHAT THE BLOODY CRUD?!!" shouted Harry in fright and anxiousness.

Mr. Weasley chuckled as he arrived behind them with his third-to-oldest son, Percy, who wore small glasses and had, like everyone else, scorching red hair. "Ron's in Diagon Alley now, Harry... not dead."

"WELL THANKS FOR TELLING ME THAT BEFORE HE BLEW UP IN FRONT OF MY FACE!" bellowed Harry, tragically scarred now.

Percy looked slightly taken back by the yelling, but nonetheless took the pot next and blew up too. Then went Fred... then George... and Harry watched as even Ginny tragically 'died' in front of him. Shaking, he jumped a foot when Mrs. Weasley thrust the flowerpot at him again.

"Go on," she assured him kindly. "It doesn't hurt. It tickles!"

Harry hesitantly took the pot again and went back into the pit. He took a pinch of the dust.

"Speak very_, very_ clearly," warned Mr. Weasley.

Harry threw the dust to his feet like the others and said unsurely, "D-Diagon Alley?"

"YOU LITTLE COW, I TOLD YOU–" shouted Mr. Weasley, but he was cut off. Harry was surprised to see green flames envelope his face and whole body, and seconds later found himself tumbling into a brick floor, ashes in his throat and soot coating his whole body. He coughed harshly as he gained balance and stood upright.

When his cough passed, Harry peered around at where he had fell into and knew instantly that this was not where he'd meant to go.

Eerie skulls and unpleasantly named books stared down at him, dusty shelves sitting crooked in corners and Dark objects sitting locked to tables, Harry's eyes widened. Why couldn't, just once, he have a smooth journey to somewhere without it going terribly dramatic and over-planned out?

Harry realized his glasses were broken, and that the dark room had grimy windows beyond the cobwebs and darkness. He rushed to them first and stared out. No. This was not Diagon Alley at all. It was the drug hood of the wizarding world... it was filthy, and scummy-looking witches and wizards stalked the cobblestone narrow passageway that led to each Dark Arts shop. Harry backed away and noticed a sign at the counter that said, 'Borgin and Burkes'. Then he heard a familiar voice... coming from behind him, outside the window. It wasn't a pleasant one.

"Yes, Father. The Slytherin team are low are good brooms... it is quite pitiful when the greatest house at Hogwarts is so Quidditch lousy," said the drawling voice. "I believe that with good ones, we'll bag the Cup for years to come!"

Harry turned to look out the window again, heart pumping. His stomach lurched into his chest as he saw through the misty grim the blond color of Draco Malfoy's hair. He did a unnecessary back flip as he rushed across the room and looked for somewhere to hide; the last thing he needed was for Malfoy to see him now, with broken glasses, lost, covered in soot and in a Dark Arts shop.

Thankfully, at the absolute last minute, Harry had run head-first into a ceiling-high black wardrobe, with vents to his eyes level. Frantic, Harry swung open the door and lunged himself inside, closing it up behind him, just as the bell to the shop door clanged and Draco and his taller, longer blond haired father, Lucius Malfoy, came walshing in.

"Touch _nothing,_ Draco," he said sternly, his black and silver snake encrusted cane held for mere style than support or anything else. Malfoy didn't respond and instantly rushed to inspect what looked to be a dead hand on a pillow.

"I thought you were going to buy me a present," said Draco, still glaring at the hand.

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently.

"What's the good if I'm not on a house team? " said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus 2000 last year; special permission from Dumbledore and everything. Just so he could play for lousily Gryffindor... just because he's famous. Famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead... everyone thinks he's so _smart_, wonderful _Potter_ with his _scar_ and his _broomstick_–"

"I'm well aware of how terrible Potter is to you, Draco," said Mr. Malfoy with a quelling look at his son. "You've told me at least a dozen times already. You shouldn't act so... hateful... towards the _wondrous_ boy who made the Dark Lord disappear. It is not... wise. Ah, Mr. Borgin!"

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter from within a door, smoothing his greasy hair back from his ugly face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure," said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. Clever. "And young Master Malfoy, I am _honored_."

"I'm not buying today," snapped Mr. Malfoy, as the man began to collect many random things he needed to get rid of and piling them in front of his face. "I'm selling."

Mr. Borgin paused and looked slightly disappointed, then waved his crooked wand, returning the objects back to their rightful places.

"What do you have, then?"

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids than usual," said Lucius icily. "I have a few– ah– _items_ at home, that might tend to embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call..."

"I see," said Mr. Borgin. "These _items..._ do you have them with you?"

"No. They are still at the mansion. You are to drop by tomorrow to collect them, yes?"

"Very well, sir... but, why would the Ministry be raiding your house?"

"I have, of course, not _yet_ been raided...the name Malfoy still commands certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever curious based on the stir caused by that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley..."

Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

"... and just in case– "

"Can I have _that_?" interrupted Malfoy from behind everyone, pointing to the withered, dead hand on the cushion.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" exclaimed Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy and scurrying over to Draco after matrixing over the counter. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has excellent taste, Mr. Malfoy."

"Indeed," muttered Lucius, staring cheekily down at the rotten hand and obviously thinking he could spend a fortune on something so much better. "I only wish that my son will amount to something more than a thief or plunderer."

Borgin's eyes widened and he gave Mr. Malfoy a small bow. "No offense, sir, my apologies..."

Mr. Malfoy and Borgin talked for a while longer as Harry stood silently in the wardrobe. God, he had to pee. Only once did Draco come to the furnishing and reach his hand out for the handle, but then–

"Done! Come along, Draco."

And the Malfoys finally stalked out. Harry spent a few more minutes in the closet as Mr. Borgin muttered about how much he secretly hated the Malfoys as he counted the money in the cash-resister. At last, he limped through the door behind the counter and into the back of the shop. Harry let out a long-held breath and fell, face-first, out of the wardrobe. He quickly gained his wits and scurried hurriedly out of the shop.

Outside, Harry dodged the many filthy wizards who seemed to be on meth and knew that, since Malfoy and his father were here, Diagon Alley must be closer than he'd previously guessed. Now he just had to find it.

"Not lost, are you, my dear?" asked a cracky voice in his ear, making him jump. An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a platter of what looked to be human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"N-no. I'm fine, thanks."

She came closer. Harry raised an eyebrow and put his hands nervously on his hips. She grinned toothily and Harry yelped in fright and nearly expelled urine all over her.

"'Arry?! What're yeh doin' down here?"

Harry's whole body warmed in the cool breeze. He looked around thankfully as the witch looked startled. Hagrid the giant gamekeeper at Hogwarts marched through the many high people, clearing a huge path between them with his vastness. His black beetle bug eyes winked girlishly above his thick black beard. A long trench coat hung from his everything.

"Hagrid! I was lost– Floo Powder!" stuttered Harry.

Hagrid promptly sat on the witch and quickly stood back up, leaving her squashed all over the road. He then grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and drug him, screaming, through the people and eventually into a clearing that turned out to be Diagon Alley.

"Yer a mess, Harry! Why haven't yeh been returning my let'rs?" he said gruffly, taking a large red-spotted handkerchief of one of his many pockets and wiping all of Harry down with it.

"The Dursleys locked me and Hedwig in my room and wouldn't let Hedwig fly or me leave at all," said Harry coldly. "I was starving."

"Idiot Muggles! Next time I see 'em I'll..." grumbled Hagrid, down cleaning Harry and standing upright again. "Have yeh been threatenin' them wit' magic like I told yeh ter?"

"Well, I was at first, but a house-elf named Dobby appeared, and..." and Harry told Hagrid what had happened as they made their way through the crowded alley, Hagrid still making a huge path with his size.

"Coswallop," he cursed. "Yeh ain't don nothin' wrong! So now yeh don't have anything against them Dursleys, eh? Well, that's sucks. We're goin' ter Flourish and Blotts, 'cause the Weasleys were losing their bolts in worry over you... didn't know where yeh went ter..."

"Where _did _I go to?" asked Harry curiously.

"Knockturn Alley," growled Hagrid grimly. "Nasty place down there; wouldn't want ter be seen roamin' around down there..."

"Then why were _you _there?" asked Harry suspiciously, turning on the tape recorder in his buttock compartment.

"Me? Oh, I was uh, gettin' Cabbage-Eatin' Slug Repellent. Horrib' creatures..."

"Oh," said Harry disappointedly, switching off the tape-recorder.

They soon arrived to the front of the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. Hagrid waved him off because he couldn't fit in the building and Harry thanked him before going in himself. But he wished he hadn't.

Inside was drenched and dripping in personnel. Humans were hanging from rafters, gathered absolutely everywhere on the ground, and some stood on the unnaturally high stacks of books with cameras. Barely able to move, Harry squirmed between the many people, trying to get to the front or find the Weasleys... though he doubted he ever would in this congestion.

But luckily, he found some Sudafed and gave it to the crowd, which thinned immediately. He found the red-headed family and snuck up behind Ron.

"HIIIIII!" he positively shrieked in his ear. Ron screamed and tumbled over, then realized it was Harry. Hermione appeared behind Percy, brown bushy hair and all. She beamed.

"Harry!" Ron said as Mrs. Weasley looked down and Hermione walked over to join them.

"There you are, dear! Where were you?! We hoped you'd only gone one fireplace too far..."

"Only Knockturn Alley... hello, Hermione."

"Hello. Your glasses are broken– do you know that?" (Harry wanted to bellow, "Of course I do, you freaking idiot!" but didn't because he forgot to.) "Here– " she took the glasses and tapped her wand to them. "_Reparo,_" she said confidently, and they became as good as new. She handed them back. Harry rolled his eyes and took them back ungratefully, muttering darkly.

"Look! Gilderoy Lockhart!" said Ginny loudly. Everyone in the crowd quit jabbering immediately and looked to the front. A smiling, brightly toothed man with blond-brown hair stepped up, wearing canary yellow robes and looking at the front row with bright blue eyes. The girls screamed. Ron tutted.

"Hello, hello, hello! I am Gilderoy Lockhart, author of the Gilderoy Lockhart books and founder of the Gilderoy Lockhart fan club! Bow to me!" he said.

Harry was sure everyone would have, especially Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, but then Lockhart chuckled and waved an uncaring hand as a gesture stating, 'That was a joke.'

"Isn't he wonderful?" said Hermione dreamily.

"Yes, oh yes he is..." murmured Mrs. Weasley in a daze.

Ron crossed his arms. "_I'm_ wonderful..."

Fred leaned close to his brother's ear from over Ginny and Harry heard him say, "No, Ron. You're most definitely not."

Harry grinned as the rest of the time, Gilderoy signed books and autographs from people in line and gave each person a complementary smile and girlish wink. When he saw Harry next to Mrs. Weasley though, as she came to get her copy of 'Magical Me' signed, he screamed and clutched him by the shirt, dragging him to the back of the counter with him.

"Who would've expected," he said loudly, gaining everyone's attention again. "Harry Potter; the Boy Who Lived– stopped the Dark Lord! This boy is my role model– though I've still done more than him, hahaha..."

Approximately two people chuckled awkwardly, but everyone else stared intently at Harry, eyes constantly drifting over his forehead. Lockhart cleared his throat, trying to get everyone to look back at him.

"Well, um... young Harry never expected to get my entire collected works, free of charge, now did he?" and he dumped the books on Harry and kicked him out of the spotlight.

Harry was just agitated. He didn't need all that. Without word, he went over to Ginny's new empty cauldron and dumped the books into her cauldron.

"Here... I'll buy my own."

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" jeered a voice from behind. Fred, George, Ron, Hermione and Mr. Weasley stood behind Harry as Draco Malfoy (surprise, surprise!) and his father stepped out of the shadows and in front of them.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Harry coldly. "Come to sell some more illegal objects to the bookstore, or just coming to get an autograph from Lockhart?"

Lucius' eyes widened and he turned red, but soon recuperated and looked fine. Well... fine as he could. Draco, however, didn't. He looked sour and stepped forward more.

"I bet you'd love to give out autographs, Potter," he sneered. "Too bad you never learned to write."

"Leave him alone!" said Ginny suddenly. "He didn't want all that attention, and you shouldn't heckle him about things that have nothing to do with anything like that!"

"Hey, Potter! You've got yourself a girlfriend!" laughed Draco, outstanding Ginny. "I'd love to see the kids! Red hair... round glasses... covered in soot... gay..."

"That's enough, Draco," said Lucius at last, coming forward to face Ginny. "The girl's got a point."

Lucius reached in his robe and grabbed for something. Harry, (and the Weasley brothers, in fact) all thought he was rummaging for his wand, so they all whipped out theirs too. But when Mr. Malfoy's hand returned to sight, it merely held a black book. He noticed their actions.

"What? Can't I help out the needy?" he said slyly. "This is a copy of _Hogwarts; A History_ from my year. If books are still the same, it'll be good use to you," and he plopped it into her cauldron atop everything else.

"Good day to you all... Arthur," he and Mr. Weasley nodded coldly to another before parting. "Come along, Draco."

"See you at school," said Malfoy unpleasantly to Ron and Harry before following his father out of the bookshop.

"I've got a bad feeling about him," said Ron when he was sure Malfoy was out of earshot.

"They _are_ bad news, Mr. Weasley. I saw them selling Dark Objects in Borgin and Burkes. Maybe you can raid their house before tomorrow? I'm positive you'll find something."

Mr. Weasley looked thoughtful. "I'll try to set it up. Come on, boys... and Ginny... we'd better go."

"God this chapter has been long!" yawned George widely.

"And _we_ haven't barely been in it!" added Fred, outraged, scandalized, and mad. "The fabulous Fred and George!"

"Oh my Lord almighty, I have_ still _got to pee."


	5. The Whomping Willow

This chapter was a... try-out for me. I wanted to see whether this 'format' of humor would work better or worse than the old way. You tell me. Personally, I enjoy the both, but this way is less official and I like the officialness. Reviews, please. I love to hear your opinions.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE WHOMPING WILLOW

The Weasleys and Harry left Hermione with her parents and pinched some Floo Powder from a random fireplace's flowerpot they found in the Leaky Cauldron after collecting all their things. The trip hadn't been evidently fun. It had probably bored the readers at the fan fiction site and now the one dude Tabz hates the almighty and powerful author, CAN.

Harry was tempted to just piddle in the fireplace while no one was looking before he used the Floo Powder to get back to the Burrow. But just as he unzipped his outer knickers, Ron, Ginny, George, Fred, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, Percy, Hagrid, Dumbledore, Malfoy and Jim arrived to watch him intently. Sheepishly he re-zipped the pants and teleported back to the Weasleys, peeful.

He stumbled into the fireplace at the Burrow with a stagger in his step. He just cried, wet and loudly, when he tried to wee-wee in the sink before anyone else arrived in the living room and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appeared, staring girlishly at Harry naked. Oh yeah. I said 'naked'.

They had a quick luncheon (sophisticated giggle) before Harry and Ron returned to his lump of a room. Harry lay flat on the bed, trying to make the liquid in him run to his chest in order to stop the force it was producing, but it only made things worse. Harry then rudely bellowed, "RON, WHERE'S THE BATHROOM, FOR CRIPE'S SAKE??!"

"There isn't one," said Ron grimly. "When I have to go, I just lean myself out that little triangular window up there. It falls wherever. When I was little, Fred and George had urine races to see whose would land fastest, or sometimes they would aim at things and fire. Once, that time Draco came, me, my older brothers Charlie and Bill, Dad, Ginny, Fred, George, and even Scabbers all went at once through all the windows as the ghoul chased them, and that's why Malfoy is blond–"

"I DON'T CARE!" screamed Harry, holding his hands between his legs. "IT'S BAD ENOUGH THAT HOGWARTS ONLY HAS BATHROOMS IN THE VIDEO GAMES AND ALL THE REST ARE HAUNTED OR FOR PREFECTS, THE DURSLEYS FORBID ME TO USE their TOILETS AND– WHERE'S THE FREAKING POOPER?!"

Ron laughed. "Just kidding. There's a bathroom."

He smiled girlishly. Harry turned magenta as he totally felt it coming out, however that works for boys.

"WHERE??!" he shrieked.

But then the ghoul burst out of the boiler and attacked Harry, so he peed all over it and made it go away. Unfortunately, he didn't get finished tinkling before the ghoul got made and chased him through the little village outside the Burrow's barriers. So Harry still wasn't done. Don don don. Ron chuckled.

The summer vacation came far too soon for Harry. It was too fun at the Burrow to be eager to leave, and he couldn't wait to somehow return. On their last eve before the Hogwarts Express was set to leave, (Harry was still containing water, having never found the bathroom,) Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Harry's favorites, (excluding Aunt Petunia's moldy white cheese): Kibbles, mashed potatoes, pasta, beans, milk, beef, Foster Farms chicken, (or at least... it said it was.) and a weird substance Harry never asked what it was, but which later turned out to be a napkin.

"Great napkin, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, laying by the warm fire on the rug in the living room as Ginny massaged his full belly for some reason. "I mean, dinner. Great dinner, Mrs. Weasley."

"Your welcome Harry," she said cheekily, still at the table with everyone. "But _we_ haven't started yet. _You _ate your share like a pig and went to lay down. We still have to say grace!"

Harry blinked and looked up. "Grace? Wizards say grace? What the hell?!"

"Oh. Right," remembered Mrs. Weasley. And the family dug in. "We're the unheavenly scum of the earth, thanks to that guy on television who hates our Lord, J.K. Rowling..."

Harry took a snooze. He woke up with the family done eating, all gathered around him, and watching Fred and George set off Filibuster fireworks by Harry's left ear. He screamed in surprise, but got over the shock long enough to watch them bounce all over the house until Percy came downstairs and one hit him in the groin, by which time Mrs. Weasley pulled out a heavy iron bat and insisted they all go to bed. After shuffling each person in a room, she waved her wand and all the lights in the house went out, and the sounds of her screaming as she fell blindly down the stairs made Harry smile as he drifted off into sleep...

Once again he dreamt of Dobby, skiing in the Alps and saying, "Harry Potter should stay there! Do not go on the train tomorrow, or Dobby will kill Harry Potter!" but was woke quite suddenly by the violent yelling of Mrs. Weasley.

"YOUR GOING TO BE LATE!" she bellowed through the house. Harry heard Ron get out of bed and take a quick poop out the tiny window before rushing downstairs. Harry slowly got up and placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, hazily gazing giggle around the room. The clock on the puke-orange wall read, 10:30. The Hogwarts Express left at eleven!

Harry flung himself up and rushed about, stuffing everything he owned in his trunk as he screamed in anxiety. He saw a small golden moose that was Ron's next to Harry's old gym sock, so he shrugged and stuffed both items atop one another in the trunk too. Just then, Fred or George ran in and baaed. Harry looked up and waited for him to say anything else, but when he didn't, Harry grabbed a side of his trunk and began to heave it downstairs.

"Mum and Dad are in the Anglia– hurry!" warned the twin.

"Where's Ron?" grunted Harry groggily, tugging the trunk down the steep stairs as the twin followed unhelpfully behind him.

"Feeding the pigs with Fred," said George. "I mean, George."

Fred didn't even know his own name? This was too confusing. Harry always began to become confused about one other thing: how was eight people, six large trunks, two owls, a rat, and a piece of buttered toast going to fit in the tiny Ford?

His question, however, was soon answered.

"Dad's put a charm on the car so that it's bigger inside than it seems. That way we all fit... but don't tell Mum," informed Ron in the car, his mother two inches from him. Mr. Weasley smacked his head.

"YOU DID WHAAT!??!" asked Mrs. Weasley calmly.

The ride was long, and they kept having to return home so that people could get things they'd forgot... Fred forgot George... Ginny forgot her diary... Mrs. Weasley forgot her lipstick... Harry forgot his wonder-bra... Ron forgot _his _wonder-bra... and Percy forgot his dignity. But soon, everything was piled girlishly in the back of the car.

"Off we go then... again!" said Mr. Weasley cheerfully. And off they putted.

_Put... put... put... pow, _said the car.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry found himself running into King's Cross station with Hedwig and his trunk dragging behind him, following the equally struggling Weasley children and their parents, (so in other words, the Weasleys.)

"Go on then! Quickly, you're going to be late! Run! Run! Run!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, gesturing as each of her children crossed the brick barrier to Platform 9¾ by running madly at the wall. At last, only Harry and Ron were left as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried through themselves.

"What a load of rubbish!" said Ron in outrage. "She shuffles each and every kid through, but when I am left, she forgets about me and goes through herself! RUBBISH!"

And he and Harry rushed at the wall too. Unfortunately, they hit the wall and exploded, spewing tiny particles of the splattered Harry and Ron all over the Muggle pedestrians. They looked outraged as they wiped themselves off, leaving large portion of wizards all over the cement floor. A fat sheriff brusused up to what was left of them as they began to put themselves back together.

"What's the meaning of this, boys?" he grunted, eyes squinted at them suspiciously. Hedwig flapped her wings in anger, hating being tipped over in this blasted cage for so long.

"What's the meaning of your stupid hat, sir?" asked Harry politely, together again. "Freaking fashion-abuse, it's horrible; don't know whether it's a full diaper or a speedo or a _robot's_ speedo or_ what_–"

"What did you say to me?!" snapped the guard, brandishing his wooden beater that Harry wished he had for Dudley threateningly.

"I _said,_" began Harry, but Ron kneed him openly in the groin and finished for him; "Nothing."

Harry swiveled in a heap, he cried. The guard prodded his beater in Ron's chest and leaned in closer, saying in a deathly whisper, "You best not be given away the secrets of the new book. I'm watchin' you."

And he strolled girlishly away. Ron blinked and shook his head. "Muggles.."

Harry was back to his feet and almost out of pain, and after setting Hed's cage upright, felt the barrier wall warily.

"Why can't we get through?!" he hissed to Ron. "We're going to miss the train!"

As Dobby imperceptibly walked by them, whistling, Harry kicked the brick in frustration, only making things worse and causing his toe to sear. He cursed, nicely, and propped Hedwig's cage and things back up against he and Ron's trunk, plus Scabber's rat cage.

"We could wait for Mum and Dad!" said Ron in a spur.

"The train'll be gone by then!" barked Harry, eating a kibble.

"We could... find an adult to drive us there!"

"Where are we to find an adult?!" snapped Harry. Adults pranced around him in the train station as Scabber's raised his four-toed hand saying, "I will."

"A _trust-worthy _adult," corrected Harry. Scabbers lowered his paw.

"Oh."

"Wait!" choked Ron in cluenesscome. "Drive? The _car!"_

Harry was about to protest some more, the negative, ungrateful brute, but found no wrong in this plan but this: "Drive to Hogwarts? What if we're seen!?"

"The Invisibility Booster that Dad installed in the car! He wouldn't mind if we– well... actually, he would– but that's not the point! Mum and him can Apparate (teleport, Harry, come on, use your basic vocabulary,) home; we'll drive to school! Think of the adventure!"

Harry thought of the adventure.

"Think of the prestige!"

Harry thought of the prestige.

"Think of the... Tony!"

Harry thought of the Tony. His eyes widened, brightened, and he sang joyously. "Yeees! But I'll still have to think about it! This could change my entire LIFE– I'll do it!"

They both got on their trunks and preformed Broadway: (see The Producers; 2005 movie)

_"We'll do itttttttt!!!_

_If in the end, you, want them to cheer,_

_Keep it gay, keep it gay, keep it gay!_

_If you're a Senate, or fellow, or Fear,_

_Keep it gay, keep it gay, keep it gay!"_

"Comedy's joy is a constant delight," sang Ron.

"Dramas annoy us, and ruin our night," crooned Harry.

"A happy ending, will pep up your day!" said both of them.

"I'll ride– ride– _ride_– _RIDE_– RI-IDE!"burst Harry, as he and Ron rushed out of the Station, pedestrians watching them worriedly.

"KEEP IT GA-AY!"

Da da dum

Harry and Ron leaped through the window of the Ford Anglia with excitement and Harry rolled the ceiling down so that the convertible was slim and rockin' dawg. He chilled wit' Snoop and fizzled until he and Ron could fizzle the bizzle no mo', ya'll. Need some Sudafed, 'cause, man, I'm congested like– it's unbelievable, groupie.

Harry stared at that sentence with confusion.

"WHAT?!"

And the blue car turned invisible and, driven by Ron, flew up into the clouds and into oblivion.

Harry and Ron followed the scarlet Hogwarts Express the whole time after they found it. Harry found a bag of toffees in the bag of the car seat, presumably left by Fred and George, and they shared the treats for about an hour. The sights were amazing, and, while Harry and Ron could easily see each other and the inside of the vehicle, Harry guessed no one could see the car from outside, which was neat.

But soon enough, after three hours of driving, the fun wore off. The toffees had left their mouths dry with nothing to drink, and darn it, Harry still had to pee from like a week ago.

"Can't be much further, can it?" croaked Ron, the car beginning to excrete bad-sounding noises. "I think the car has had it's run."

The word 'run' brought shuddering thoughts to Harry's head, his bladder screaming at him. Next thing they knew, they were going over water. He threw his arms in the air in anger.

"What's with this?!"

Harry and Ron both looked down out their windows to find the train in the ocean. The Geico Insurance people came and towed it out, but couldn't save thirteen kids. Uncaring, the train kept going left (?) until they hit Hogwarts, leaving a massive dent in the side of the school. Dumping the kids in the lake, the great train backed up and, tooting, left through the Black Lake.

Harry and Ron, however, didn't see all this. They were too busy driving girlishly. About two miles behind the train, (the car was slowing down now) Ron rubbed the dashboard nervously as yet another bang came from the engine.

"Not far," he said softly to the car. "Not far now..."

"THERE!" said Harry in relief, pointing yonder horizon to comment the distance. cough

The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out the window, Harry saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the lake, a mile below. Ron's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.

"Come on!" begged Ron feverishly. "Almost there! Then you can stop; we'll give you some nice, juicy diesel!"

There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died completely.

"NO! Gas, then, gas then!" retorted Ron in heaven's light. He looked up. "Uh-oh."

"Yeah, uh-oh, we're hurtling through the air," said Harry calmly.

So they screamed together. Ron pulled out his wand and beat the dash with it, yelling, "STOP! STOP! STOPULO! STOPIFI! STOPIFU! STOPULA! WHATEVER IT TAKES!!"

With a deafening crack, the wand broke. The tip dangling limply, held by just a few splinters, Ron screamed louder. "MY WAND!"

"LOOK OUT FOR THAT TREE!" bellowed Harry, which didn't help the situation as Ron tried to frantically now press the knobs and switches on the gas.

"I SEE THE FREAKING TREE!"

"NO YOU DIDN'T, YOUR GOING STRAIGHT AT IT!"  
"I'M THE DRIVER, AND I SAY I SAW THE STUPID TRE–"

"CRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDD!" screamed Harry.

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled hood; Hedwig was shrieking in terror; a golf ball-sized lump was throbbing on Harry's head where it hit the windshield; and to his right, Ron let out a low, despairing groan.

"You okay?" said Harry urgently. Plgh... like he really cared. Ron just had the last toffee.

"Dad's gonna kill me... Mum's gonna break my neck..."

"Be thankful someone who loves you will, rather than this car," said Harry.

But no. They didn't sit happily by a tree, no care in the world– other than the fact that they had just nearly died in a car wreck after plummeting two miles out of the sky– but the freaking tree had to attack them.

"RAWR," said the tree fiercely.

"ARGH," screamed Harry, scared.

"BURGANDY," said Ron, bored.

Look! R.A.B.! RAWR, ARGH, BURGANDY! Another mystery solved by... CAN! But what does CAN stand for? The world may never know. Anyhow:

The tree lifted a great bushy branch and stretched it out as, horrified, Harry watched the plant ball its limb into a ball that quickly after was seen hurtling at the car at a breakneck speed. Harry hugged Ron and screamed as the car tipped over violently, the contents in the back crashing about and Hedwig absolutely freaking out.

"Oh, what's happening _now_?!" yelled Ron, thrashing about and trying to keep steady. He peered with difficulty out his window and roared in shock. "_The Whomping Willow?! _Well, that's great luck, isn't it?!"

"Aaargh!" said Harry as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the windshield was now trembling under the hails of small and large blows coming from the knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram pounding furiously on the roof.

"We're done for!" said Ron positively, looking like he would cry.

As the car gave another violent turn on the grass from a wham in the side, Harry forced himself to say, "

"You're my best friend, Harry," cried Ron.

"I think I'm gay and that I love you, Ron!" cried Harry.

Ron stopped screaming.

"Wh– is that so?" he said thoughtfully.

"No," said Harry quickly. Too quickly... "I just wanted to say somethinh sweet!"

"Awwwh...!" half-screamed Ron, as the car tipped again, this time rolling it to its natural position on its tires. The ceiling sagged, but suddenly, the car floor began to vibrate, and a humming was heard– the engine had restarted.

_"Reverse!" _shouted Harry at once.

"Obviously!" yelled Ron, reach to shift the clutch or whatever its called. But before he could touch it, (you know... it.) the car shot backwards on its own; the tree was still slashing wildly; they could hear the roots still creaking as he lunged for them, but if Harry knew trees, it wasn't going to get out of the ground and chase them any further. But if Harry knew trees, that one shouldn't have just beat them up...

"That was a close one!" cawed Ron, sounding like Hedwig. "Good job, car."

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. Whatever that means. With two sharp clunks, the door on either side of Harry and Ron flew open and the seats tilted, dumping them out onto the moist grass of Hogwarts. Loud thuds from all around them and the clatter and shriek from Hedwig told them that the luggages had been ejected as well, landing all over the ground around the car. Next thing they knew, Harry and Ron, scratching their buttocks, were watching as the obviously ticked car sped away into the night, disappearing into the thick Forbidden Forest's trees that lined the grounds.

"I'm dead," Ron said grimly. "I'm done for. I'm going to be murdered. I might as well follow it in those woods and take my chances with whatever werewolf or zombie I might come across, but it would be better than whatever Mum n' Dad'll cook up for me."

"Can you believe our luck?" said Harry as they began to pick up their clatter things. When he reached Hedwig, he simply opened the cage and let her out, and she swooped down at Ron at once, peaking his eyes out before leaving, pooping all over everyone's things. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to hit one that hits back!"

"Hit, hit, hit; yeah, I know," said Ron irritably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. "We'd better hurry to the Dormitory. I wouldn't want to see Snape or anyone else's face if he knew that we– oh, come on!"

He had turned around to pick up his last knitted sweater when he came face-to-face with Professor Severus Snape, the greasy haired, oily-nose, meanie Potions teacher that was as bad as bad.

"Have a nice ride across London, did we?" he sneered. He pulled Ron by the ear to Harry, and got Harry by the scruff of the neck. "You're probably the first two students to ever lose house points before school even began, Potter and Weasley. Perhaps when I'm done with you I will expel the both of you. Since I can't do that punishment without McGonagall's permission, however, I suppose I'll just have to whoop you instead."

Harry covered his buttocks. "...you wouldn't..." he whispered. "... you couldn't do that..."

Snape stopped and held Harry's whole body up, (with inhuman strength), bringing them nose-to-nose with each other. "Oh, really? Watch me."

And Snape lowered him to groin-to groin level, as though he'd proven something great. He dropped Ron and Harry on the ground and slashed out a rather lethal looking whip from inside his undies. "Ready, boys?"

Ron whimpered. The great oak doors to the school then creaked open. Dumbledore and McGonagall came scampering out as Snape tried to get one whip out, but Dumbledore twittered his wand at Snape's rope thing, so that it flew out of his hand and away. Snape bowed his head and cried.

"But... I wanted to..." he sobbed.

"Severus, it is MY responsibility to restrict them; punish, or whatever the word is..." said McGonagall, her long green robes billowing in the moonlight. She stepped over the two boys.

"You were seen by no less then seven Muggles. That's a great bad, Potter; Weasley. You will both receive detention and a good yelling to. We will be contacting both of your families tonight. Now go to your dorm!"

Dumbledore just whistled, no point to him coming out at all. Harry and Ron got up and ran off into the castle, abandoning their things. Seven flights of moving stairs and a run-in with the school Poltergeist, Peeves, (_"Keep it gay, keep it gay, are we? Potty and Weasel, sittin' in a tree, bein' attacked as they try to make bees...") _they met the great portrait of the Obese Lady, who was singing.

"Password?" she sang irritatedly.

"Mollywobbles," said Harry dumbly.

"Petrifystudents?" asked Ron. A pair of footsteps were heard right behind them.

"It's rumored you two flew a flying Ford Anglia across London to here," said the familiar voice. They turned around to see Hermione standing there. "And the passwords, 'Fortuna Major'. Or something..."

"It's rumored you die in the last book, but that doesn't mean it's true," said Harry reasonably. "But yeah, it's true. We did fly a car across London."

Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan rushed up to them as they went into the common room and plopped into two big chairs in front of the fire.

"Is it true then?" asked Seamus eagerly. "Did you really drive the car here, then crash into that murderous willow and survive?"

"Well, we didn't survive," said Ron, closing his eyes.

"Woah," said Dean. "Wicked."

"Incredible," said Neville, day-dreaming of himself in that situation.

Harry, despite himself and the trouble he was in, smiled. He didn't need to pee anymore since crashing into the tree, and now felt relieved. But he seriously needed to change his knickers.


	6. Gilderoy Lockhart

CHAPTER SIX

GILDEROY LOCKHART

Just in time for breakfast the next day, Harry found out that he wouldn't be smiling for a while now. Things started to go downhill as soon as he met Hermione with Ron at the Gryffindor's long house table, where he was instantly splashed with acid, ("Whoops..." said Seamus.) blown to smithereens by a curse that had been redirected from the bald spot on Professor Flitwick's head, and resurrected by the Jews in the Nun van that had been crossing the border to Mexico... wait, what?

After the fuss though, he settled down in a seat between Ron and Dean Thomas, peering around at the tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon beneath the dull, gray enchanted ceiling (which reflected the sky presently outside). Harry yawned and pulled a kipper to his lips as he watched Neville Longbottom, who was in front of him, holding what looked to be a Cingular phone.

"Neville," said Hermione sharply, she who had been directing a rather grudged personality at both Harry and Ron for reasons which they guessed involved their action-packed entrance the previous night. "Muggle instruments don't work in Hogwarts. They shut down; which is _why–_" (she twittered annoyingly to Harry and Ron) "– you shouldn't drive flying cars into the grounds from London, because they will _shut down_... perhaps crash into_ trees..." _

"Drop it, Hermione," said Ron abruptly. "We didn't want to do it, we had to! You should've heard the Broadway song we sang for the occasion. Explained it all, didn't it, Harry?"

"Not... not really," said Harry, through a mouthful of toast, trying to recall the verses. "It was really a spur of the moment thing, I don't think it explained anything, as a matter of fact..."

But Neville still had his phone out with a strained look on his face, nose crinkled. Finally, the annoying ring tone of 'Hello, Moto,' burst through their ears as Neville lifted his fist in joy and success.

"Yes! It worked!"

"What?!" said Hermione, double-taking. She leaned in for a closer look.

"It's my new Verizon package!" exclaimed Neville excitedly. "Gran got it for me for when I'm stuck in toilets! _Can you hear me now?_" he said into the phone.

"They most certainly shouldn't!" said a voice from behind. "No cell phones in class!"

Professor McGonagall stood with her wand out, having run to them from the tables in front where the teachers sit, and was now trying to conceal her heavy pants (not jeans; breathing). Neville looked stricken.

"But this isn't even a class! It's bloody breakfast!" he whined, though was handing the phone to her.

"This is Hogwarts, not Cingular Camp!" spat McGonagall, tapping the phone with her wand so that it disappeared. "I'll return it to you at the end of the year, Longbottom. Potter! Weasley! I shall be expecting to see you too for detentions tomorrow eve– Potter, to Professor Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom; Weasley, to Mr. Filch's... whatever it is."

And she brusused away. Neville cried as Harry and Ron groaned. Harry perked with memory. "Wait... Professor Lockhart? Wasn't he that idiot from Flourish and Blotts?"

"Yeah," said Ron thoughtfully, leaning on his hand and playing with his forkful of kibbles. "Just what we need. Some old into-himself loony as our Defense teacher."

"'Ello!" said Hagrid, marching up to them from the doors. "Old into-himself loony? Yeh wouldn't be talkin' 'bout me, now, would yeh?"

Harry examined his size and shook his head, startled.

_"'... as our Defense teacher.'"_ emphasized Ron slowly. "Key words, stupid."

"Sorry, I just–" stammered Hagrid.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" roared Ron suddenly; the Great Hall went quiet. Even the owls that began to flood the room didn't break the silence as Hagrid shuddered, then ran out of the hall, bawling loudly. Ron slapped his hands together, feeling accomplished. "Tea, anyone?"

Hermione picked her copy of_ Voyages With Vampires_ up from against the orange juice and walshed from the room after Hagrid, obviously ticked.

"Got rid of both of them, I did," said Ron proudly as everyone turned back to their business around the room after looks of hate towards him, (he didn't notice), all except Malfoy and his clan of Slytherins, who cheered and whistled.

Harry scanned the sky of wet owls, who all dropped their dew and doo on the tables as they flew by, dropping packages. He listened to the screams of anguish as obvious droplets of water and poop splattered everyone, and Harry pulled his wand out and pointed it at the sky, muttering, _"Umbrelathon."_

His breath ran a marathon.

"Whoops..." said Harry. "I mean, _Umbrelaso."_

And umbrella appeared and it lassoed the owls, who screamed and dropped their notes. Harry just gave up, stored his wand away, and tried to ignore the rain of crud that splattered his whole body afterwards. He ate his kibbles and porridge silently. Suddenly though, a large, clumsy barn owl Harry knew to be Percy's and from the Burrow slammed into the oatmeal before him, spattering Harry with nothing different than what was already on him.

Errol, which was the owl's name, was dead. No one cared as Ron took the letter from its leg. It was red and shaped liked lips.

"What's that supposed to do?" asked Harry with a grin. "Kiss your arse?"

He laughed loudly, then when he realized that everyone in the Hall was quiet again and looking at Ron; he silenced and hid under the table in embarrassment.

"It's a Howler!" he heard Ron whisper in a small voice. He poked his head over the side of the table just long enough to see Ron's letter float before him and begin to scream in a ringing voice that filled the whole school.

"RONALD WEASLEY!" it said. "HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR! _AGAIN_! I AM ABSOLUTELY INFURIATED! I COULDN'T BE MORE MAD! WHEN YOU GET HOME, WE'RE TAKING YOUR RUBBER DUCKY AWAY, AND YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO FACE THE SHOWER ALONE– AND I'M NEVER _EVER_ SCRUBBING YOUR FITHLY BACK IN THE BATHTUB _EVER AGAIN_!"

Ron leaned into Harry's ear. "She likes to; you can just tell."

"YOUR FATHER'S NOW FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK–"

"Inquiry?" asked Ron. "Is that a new Jell-O flavor or something?"

"– AND IT'S ENTIRELY _YOUR FAULT!_ IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'RE BRINGING YOU STRAIGHT HOME! WE'LL BEAT YOU, WE WILL, STRIP YOU DOWN AND JUST WHOOP THE LIVING BLOODY RUDDY CRUDDY SPOOT KNICKER DASH DASH BEEF WELLINGTON OUT OF YOU! PHGJGFDH! Yeah so, love you, honey. Have a great year."

And it exploded. Ron coughed, embarrassed. Fred and George burst into laughter a little ways down the table as Harry tried to wipe off some of the bird crud from his shoulder.

After breakfast, the Hufflepuffs and the Gryffindors walked to the Herbology Greenhouses, Harry in his same owl-essence-covered clothing. Professor Sprout, who in the movie was stout and chubby, dirty and grubbed, but in the video game (PS2) was green and looking like a freaking plant woman, but in the Playstation One game looked gay, but okay, was _indeed_ a blue, gay, stubbed, grubby mouse woman with two gloves sticking out over her horned head.

"And what're you?" said Ron sarcastically when he saw her. "An Urgal? Or is that just Jessica Simpson's real image? Am I right?!"

The Gryffindors all went, "Woooo!" but the Hufflepuffs, whose Head of House was Sprout, crossed their arms and hissed. Nobody really liked Ron this year.

"Today," said Professor Sprout with a dark glare at Ron before rustling to a pot of squirming bushes on the other side of the room, "we'll be learning how to re-pot Mandrakes."

She pulled roughly on the bottom of the stem to the 'mandrake' It was a green baby. Hmm. It also began to scream shrilly as she held it, and everyone fell over, knocked out.

"Whoops..." she said, staring nervously to the earmuffs by her and the pot. "Forgot to have you put on the earmuffs... oh well; just saves time for me."

And she drug each person into her tool shed closet thing and jammed the door closed, then walked away, whistling. Until she remembered that she hadn't had earmuffs on either and passed out too.

Ron's day was just getting worse and worse. His wand beyond repair, he had tried to mend it up by putting countless ropes of Spellotape around the middle before giving up and crying. Fred and George openly mocked him about being so wandless, and during their first Dancing Naked Class after Herbology (somehow they had woken up from the Mandrake's cry three days earlier than usual) Ron had tried to use the Stripping Curse, but instead stripped the teacher, Professor Imagoes. Draco and Crabbe, who were partnered and stripping in the corner, looked around in shock as yet another try at the Stripping Curse from Ron's defective wand caught Goyle's buttock on fire.

Their next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Harry, Ron and Hermione walked in still naked.

"Hello, I am, as you should well know, Gilderoy Lockhart– goodness gracious! Mr. Potter! Weasley, Granger, (how do I already know your names?) AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING NAKED?!"

"Oh," said Harry, producing clothes with a wave of his wand. Hermione did Ron for him, but slowly and to the theme of, _"Bwoom shika wow-wow..."_

Harry and the others took a seat.

"Well, erm..." Lockhart seemed troubled now. "It's a good thing I can do my famous Memory Charms! Heh, heh... well. Uh... oh yes! I am Gilderoy Lockhart, six time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, which turned out to be a dud when I discovered m'teeth were dentures... and writer of the books about myself. Now, bow to me!"

No one moved. Seamus coughed phlegm over Neville's neck and chortled.

"Yes, indeed..." sweat Lockhart. "... so, I'm your new Defense Teacher."

Harry had a sudden urge to bother him.

"No, you aren't," he said at once.

Lockhart looked startled.

"Yes, I am," he corrected, grinning weakly to the rest of the class.

"No, you're not," said Harry sternly.

"Yes, I am."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO!"

But Lockhart took one of the many moving photos of himself down from the wall and tossed it across the room at Harry, who was hit roughly in the forehead and fell over, unmoving.

"Yeah. I am," he said magnificently. Hermione, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown sighed dreamily.

"Hey, look!" shouted Malfoy, leaning over Harry's hot bod. "Potter's got a new scar! This one's of a cloud to match his lightning bolt! Ha!"

Hermione looked over Ron at the scar.

"That's just a bruise," she sighed exasperatedly. Draco looked again.

"Oh."

"Now, for Potter's impertinence, I'm going to set a herd of Cornish Pixies on you. Here I go..." he whipped off a curtain that was draped over a large cage. Inside were around fifty small, beady-eyed, blue pixies that seemed mischievous. Seamus laughed. "Something funny, Mr. Finnegan?"

"Yeah! _Cornish Pixies? _What's with that?! Try to tickle us to death or something... that's rubbish! Not a threat at all!"

Lockhart pursed his lips and put his hands on his hips, holding his wand in one hand. "Oh really? Well, Mr. Finnegan... let's see what you make of them. HAZAH!"

He tapped the cage with his wand, and hell broke loose. The pixies hung Neville off of the roof, and they yelled at CAN for not writing this chapter very well. Too bad that CAN ran before finding out how they stopped the pixies. I just ran. So did Lockhart, screaming, and as did the rest of the class. Harry woke up with a pixie clamped on his neck, sucking his blood. He screamed and pulled out his wand, pointing it at the thing.

"DIE, DIE, DIE!" he said wildly... and it did. "Hmm."

"Can you believe him?" roared Ron as one of the pixies bit him painfully on the ear. "And that CAN?! Writes the whole book good up to this part, leaving off details and everything else! Shameful is what it is... making us all faint and such, just to skip events that she doesn't want to explain... this will never happen again," he added to you.

"Lockhart just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into the cage. Harry and Ron cowered under the table. "And as for CAN... she's only giving giving the readers some different styles of humor to see what they like most! If only they'd review her more!"

"Hermione, the man hit me in the head with a book," said Harry, referring to Lockhart, not CAN, and pointing to the throbbing mark on his head. "You can't tell me he's a good teacher."

"Rubbish, Harry. He was only showing you how to block things, but you did it wrong," she said in an almost hopeful voice.

"The next chapter had better be better than this crud," said Ron lowly, seeming outraged.

"Besides, Harry," said Hermione more, killing a pixie with Avada Kedrava and shifting her eyes before throwing the corpse out a window. "You've read Lockhart's books... look at all those amazing things he's done!"

"_Says _he's done," Ron muttered, swatting away an elf for some reason (is it Dobby? No... no, it's not.). "I'm telling you, if this book doesn't go back to the way it was, I'm going to murder someone."

And he did.


	7. Mudbloods and Murmurs

CHAPTER SEVEN

MUDBLOODS

AND MURMURS

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid Colin Creevey, a small first year boy whose dad was a milkman Muggle and who himself was the greatest Harry Potter fan and personal photographer that was ever born, seeming to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.

Hedwig was still absolutely furious with Harry for the way he'd been treating her. The Ford Anglia was no where to be found in the Forbidden Forest, (as Hagrid and Fang had gone out to look for it on Dumbledore's orders) and classes were becoming harder. What with the constant dodging of Ron's faulty wand, shooting out of his hand and through the classroom, usually hitting someone square in the face, and Hermione's ceaseless jabbering about how to pronounce spells properly, Harry began to simply try to sleep through classes without positive affect. He now held both a cloud-shaped bruise near his scar and an inch tall red bump sticking out of his hair, thanks to his attempt to sleep in Snape's Potions class and waking up to Snape walloping over the head with a heavy iron cauldron he'd found.

All this havoc atop one another made Harry thankful it was the weekend. He was planning on visiting Hagrid with Ron and Hermione after sleeping in Saturday, but was violently woken around five by the wild hands of Oliver Wood.

"Come on, 'Arry! Wake up! Me and me Irish accent can't handle this shakin' anymore!" he was saying madly.

"Why?" murmured Harry, placing his glasses from the side table on the bridge of his nose and sitting upright. "And I thought you're accent was more Swedish?"

"Do I look neutral?" hissed Wood, looking clearly agitated. His hair was barely done and he had burnt clothing on, not to mention the state of his face, which had black-ringed eyes and a gash across his left cheek. "Alarm didn't go off! The only reason I'm awake now is because I smelt me clothes burning from when I left them to dry by the common room's fire. Next thing you know, a wolf comes and attacks me! Barely had time to gather all the team before I remembered about you and rushed to collect ya as well..."

"What are you talking about, Wood?" said Harry blearily, automatically up and dressing for the day.

"Quidditch practice!" exclaimed Wood in an obvious tone. Everyone else in the second year boy's room were stirring annoyingly at his booming voice in their beds. "Booked the pitch this morning– them bloody Slytherins have got it for about every second past noon until next Wednesday– so hurry up, let's get down there!"

Exhausted, Harry tripped over his own feet trying to get to his trunk and pull out his scarlet and gold Quidditch robes. He found his Nimbus Two Thousand and hauled it downstairs and into the main common room with Wood.

"Harry? You sleep in the nude?" asked Wood suddenly and just before they exited through the portrait hole. Harry looked down. Sure enough, he'd put on his socks and robes, but had no jeans. He sighed and turned back around.

"No, no, no, forget the pants!" barked Wood. "You had your chance with them; come on, let's go!"

"Wood," said Harry sternly. "I'm not going out there naked."

Oliver grabbed his shoulder. "Well, son," he said in a fatherly voice worthy of Fred and George, "you've got no choice. Come on! What are you worried about? You're hot!"

And he drug him away and to the Quidditch pitch. They passed Peeves the Poltergeist once, who cackled at Harry and didn't even have the time to sing an annoying song about his appearance before he was speeding away to probably tell the whole Slytherin common room how Potty was dressed today.

Harry was irritated. He was even more so when Colin Creevey rushed out of no where in particular with his trusty camera. He snapped a few shots of Harry before he knew what hit him or had time to hide or cover up.

"Hello, Harry!" squeaked the little first year. "Why are you nak–"

"Not now, Colin, I have Quidditch Practice," said Harry in a rush, Wood tugging him down the moving staircases and jumping five steps at a time.

"Quidditch Practice?! Wow, I've never seen a real game of that before! Can I watch, Harry?"

"No," answered Harry flatly and sounding as mean as possible. "This isn't a real game, now is it? It's Quidditch _Practice..._"

"Oh right," said Colin sadly, and he turned around as Harry raced down the stairs. "Wait, I'll deal with a Practice! I've never seen a Quidditch _Practice, _Harry..."

Harry had to explain the rules of Quidditch, plus every historical reference he knew about it to Colin before he could finally shake the parasite to the audience stands to watch him and the others practice. You know how to play Quidditch, and if you don't, I don't care and don't feel like explaining. So there.

It was a real pain in the arse for Harry to sit on his broom so bare. His buttocks sucked the broom between him many times before he simply fell off and landed in the mud twenty feet below him. Did I say it was raining a bit?

"Oh crud– Wood! I have mud and broomstick splinters in my buttocks!" shouted Harry across the airspace to Wood at his position hovering by the three great stands. "I need pants."

"Sorry, Harry? Can't hear you," whispered Wood, able to hear fine. "You'll have to get back on your broom, find the Golden Snitch and bring it to me before I'll hear you again!"  
Muttering, Harry sat back on the broom and lifted back off.

Three hours later, Harry was limping back into Hogwarts with a rose bush wrapped around his waist to conceal himself. He would never sleep nude again. Especially after he realized that the bush was indeed made of roses... pointy, thorned roses.

"WHY DO I KEEP GOING AROUND THESE THINGS!?" bellowed Harry in pain as he ripped the plantage off of him.

So instead he walshed right into the Great Hall, exposed as daylight. He was wishing that the early morning would lead to low amounts of personnel in the breakfast room, but to his despair as he pushed open the heavy oak doors, pretty much the whole school were in there, hoping to start their day long and full. Or whatever.

He met Ron and Hermione after passing Malfoy and the other Slytherins whispering to Peeves at the green and silver house table. To Harry's slight interest and gratitude though, and before Malfoy could begin to mock him of his lack of undies and other pantage, Peeves pulled a pie out of the thin air and smashed it in Draco's smug face. The Gryffindor table roared with laugheter.

"That'll teach you!" said Ron loudly, smacking a fist on the table.

"It's... not that funny," said Harry slowly.

"Harry, where have you been? And why are you..." Hermione sheepishly turned red as she cleared her throat and glanced under the table. "_...naked?"_

"Oh, I just feel the atmosphere's breeze should naturally pass your area for a stream of carelessness," snapped Harry. "It's Wood's fault! He wouldn't let me put on my pants this morning before he whisked me away to the Quidditch pitch... and I'm sure that Colin will have greeting cards with me naked on their front before breakfast is done!"

"Hello, Harry!" said the voice he dreaded to hear behind him. It was Colin. "I haven't made greeting cards... yet... but I was wondering if you'd give me an autograph? I have that photo from earlier..."

"NO!" barked Harry. "I'm not some animal to be goggled at! I didn't want to be famous because of that moron Voldemort– THAT'S RIGHT, EVERYONE! LORD VOLDEMORT!"

The whole school gasped and shuddered at the name, so Harry spent the rest of breakfast eating marmalade plain while bellowing the word, "VOLDEMORT!" in a method that made the whole school do a football game crowd-like wave of shudders. He chuckled.

Later that same day, Harry still didn't have pants on for some reason. He was walking with Hermione and Ron across the grounds on the way to Hagrid's, now passing the Quidditch Pitch, where the Slytherin team were gathering in a circle, about to go in for practice. Unfortunately, they spotted them walking by.

"Hey, Potter! Got some new briefs, I see... so very natural they are indeed!" Marcus Flint was yowling across the roars of laughter from the team.

"Hardy har har," croaked Ron.

"Hey, Weasley! How's your ghoul doing? Got a bathroom yet?" asked another Slytherin Harry recognized to be the voice of Draco Malfoy. With a jolt in his stomach, Harry gasped as the circle cleared a path for the newest and shortest member of their team: Draco Malfoy, in the green and silver robes and holding a slim, black broom.

_"Malfoy?" _asked Harry in shock. "_You're _the new Seeker? Well, I've got no problem with that. Gryffindor has brooms and talent, one thing _you _don't..."

"Funny you mention brooms," said Flint menacingly. "As well as Draco, Malfoy's Father has given us yet another gift. Say hello to... the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Two more letters, twice the price."

Harry choked on his own organs staring down at the excellent new brooms them held. They were shiny, which was virtually enough to impress Harry and turn around to go resign the Quidditch team himself. But the next phrase by Malfoy changed his mind completely.

"As ya con she, these vacuum cleaners are as faster then the old broom version, da Nimus 2."

Harry turned his head and choked on his organs again with laughter. So did Hermione. Malfoy turned on Hermione with a look of disgust.

"No one asked your opinion," he sneered. "You filthy little Mudblood; which is a particularly nasty word for a witch or wizard whom is non-magically parented."

Harry gasped. "No way!"

"You did NOT just say that!" boomed Ron, coming forward and whipping his wand out. "POOF!"

The spell rebounded against the strands of Spellotape and hit Ron with a piercing boom and a flash of orange light, knocking him through the air and back onto the ground with a thud. Hermione squealed and rushed to the rescue. Harry burped. Malfoy cracked up. Flint farted.

"Ron! Are you alright?"

"Ye– no," muttered Ron dizzily. He belched loudly. Harry saw that small and large slugs were bursting from his cheeks. Tee hee hee.

Ron was vomiting slugs of every shape and size. Harry rushed to his side at last with Hermione as Draco and the other Slytherins howled with laughter.

"Well, that taught me!" choked Draco, wiping away tears.

"Come on, Hermione. Let's take him to Hagrid– he'll know what to do!" said Harry wildly.

"No, he won't! He's a moron– I mean, okay," said Hermione, shifting her eyes nervously.

With the help of Malfoy, they drug Ron carefully down to Hagrid's Hut, which is, for whatever reason, capitalized. Malfoy tipped his hat and bowed like Dobby, saying, "Ta-ta!" before skipping away.

"What the bloody hell was that?" retorted Harry with a look of disgust.

They knocked.

"Oo be out thar?!" boomed a voice from inside. Fang, a greyhound or whatever he is, began to bark loudly at the door, trying to get out the window in wild attempt to lick their faces. "Down, Fang! DOWN! Yeh perverted dog, yeh..."

Muttering still, Hagrid tried to fumble with the deadlocks inside, though got sick of it and merely stepped through the door towards them.

"Ah, it's yeh lot!" he said jollily and vaguely sounding like a Caribbean Santa Claus. Heh, heh, heh... "What's Ron doin'? It looks gross."

He grimaced and turned back around, heading for inside again. But Harry then called out, "Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood, so Ron tried to curse him with his broken wand that got cracked when we flew a flying car into the Whomping Willow!"

Hagrid stared. "Well that explains the whole book, now then, don't it?" he said cheerfully.

Hagrid invited them in and gave them some hard tea and stale crumpets. He gave Ron a bucket to throw up into, ("... why didn't I think of that...?" muttered Hermione, looking stupid now) and told them to go away. So they did.

Later, Ron was still burping up slugs when Professor McGonagall came to fetch Harry and him for their detentions. Harry met Lockhart in his office as Ron was literally carried to Filch's 'office' thing by McGonagall.

"Hello, Harry!" boomed the smiling Lockhart from his desk. Harry could barely see him behind the mounds of fan letters and photographs littering the room.

"Hello."

"We're signing fan letters. I just need you to forge my autograph twenty-three thousand times while listening to me ramble on about something concerning Horklumps and how I defeated them in the 1850s– er, I mean– Demonic Era of the Ministry of Magic... now won't this be fun?"

Harry nodded. It was not fun at all. A throbbing right hand, smoking quill end and four hour difference later, Harry was beginning to finally leave.

"Thank you, Harry," said Lockhart cheaply. "May the force stay with you."

He hadn't even said it right. Outraged, Harry stormed from the room, eager to finish this chapter once and for all. Outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, however, he heard a hissing voice say, _"Come... come to me... let me rip you... tear you... kill... eat... expel you... poop on the bathroom floor on the way there..."_

Harry blinked. He didn't want to be on the bathroom floor, so he ran back to the common room. Sorry for the 'Potty Talk'. (girlish giggle) He forgot to tell anyone though, because he fell asleep on the bathroom floor on the way. (yawn)


	8. The Deathday Party

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE DEATHDAY PARTY

Bored out of his mind, Harry never did tell Ron or Hermione about the ominous voice he had heard. Even if he had, the voice would've scared them, or made them think he was insane. It wasn't until October arrived did Harry find some pants to wear, and even after that he didn't find any knickers to wear underneath the short-shorts he found in... Ron's drawer? Okay then...

To make this exclusively quick, because I doubt you really want to read this, it turned October 28th or something and Harry was walking. He saw Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost.

"Hello, Harry, m'boy!" he boomed. "Come to my party!"

He handed him an invitation.

"It would mean the world to me!"

Feeling special, Harry read;

**Sir Nicolas De Pongmimseyyadda yadda the third invites you to...**

**Some horrible party you probably don't want to go to!**

**Dead or live welcome.**

**SO COME, HAVE SOME CRUDDY FOOD!**

**-Sincerely,**

**Sir Nicolas De Pongmimseyyadda yadda the third.**

"A birthday party?" asked Harry.

"No, this is a Deathday Party," corrected Nick.

Taken back, Harry shrugged, ran around the corner and died. Then he came back to Nick.

"Okay. I'm ready," he told him.

"Uh– you don't have to be dead."

"Oh." So Harry went back around the corner and became live again.

"That's better!" exclaimed Nick, beaming.

And Harry went. He hated it, and a stupid, whiny ghost named Moaning Myrtle was there crying. He rolled his eyes and left. Outside the dungeons or somewhere he saw Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, hanging stiff and wide-eyed from a bracket. He shrugged and moved on.

This will never happen again in a chapter and I may come to fix this up in the near future. But for now, I don't care. Oh, God... Ron's after me! OH LORD!!!!

"I TOLD YOU NEVER TO LACK IN AUTHORSHIP EVER AGAIN!" he bellowed as I ran screaming, him holding a chrome-iron mallet that he brandished threateningly.


	9. The Writing on the Wall

CHAPTER NINE

THE WRITING

ON THE WALL

What's going on here, what's–"

Filch had come to the scene. Harry was actually not asleep and was, as a matter of fact, standing in front of the cat of the caretaker, Mrs. Norris, strung up by her tail which was knotted on a rather scabby bracket.

Filch saw the cat.

"M-my... my cat..." he said in horror. "You... you've... you've murdered my cat. I'll kill you!"

Harry was taken back by the sudden remark. "Huh?" he stuttered.

But Filch was already pulling a rather blunt and bloody axe from out of his trousers, marching angrily towards Harry, who barked in alarm and rushed away, though realized the entire school was flooding into the hall he was standing in, leaving him trapped within everyone's flesh.

"ARGH!" he screamed pitifully, looking for help. "HELP ME, I CAN'T– freak!"

He like totally dissed the caretaker as the scraggly man grabbed his ankle and pulled the crawling second year across the cobblestone floor and back towards him, aiming his axe at his neck. The Slytherins and Gryffindors watched in a mixture of glee and pity as Filch swung back down with the blade–

_"Argus!"_

The axe never met Harry's neck. He had shielded his eyes and begun to cry as he heard a grunt from Filch, a clatter of an axe on the ground, and a "My toe! That ruddy caretaker's axe cut off my toe! OH GOD!" from a first year behind everyone. Harry dared to open his eyes.

Dumbledore had arrived to the seen, followed by several other professional-looking teachers. Then there was Lockhart.

"Mr. Potter, come with me," said Dumbledore sharply, detaching Mrs. Norris from the bracket and stepping on Filch's face (who was in a heap on the ground by Harry) on his way back through the crowd. Harry felt his stomach drop further into his rectum area.

"But... Professor, I didn't–"

"There will be plenty of time to discuss what you did and did not do in my office," said Dumbledore, turning around. "... you stupid second year..." he added rudely. "Minerva and whoever else is behind me, come too. And everyone else," he addressed the crowd, "if you feel like coming too, come on down, the more the merrier."

Dumbledore hacked and strolled away. Hermione, Ron and Dib followed him from out of the crowd as well as Professors Flitwick, McGonagall and Snape. And Filch and whoever else had appeared so randomly. As Harry morbidly began as well, he looked back at the wall with a double-take, noticing what he hadn't before then.

In thick, scarlet, dripping letters read a message.

**Whoever left their blue hummer outside of the school, your lights are on. They are irritating the owls. Also, if the owner could turn in to the Headmaster's office, that would be great, because you shouldn't have Muggle vehicles near Hogwarts. The pollution those things excrete is unbelievable... Dumbledore may help you buy a less gas consuming car, like a Toyota Prius. Now that's magic!**

Harry blinked. Then he saw a smaller message near that one, this one reading:

**The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.**

Well, how clever! It even rhymed. Feeling exaggerated, Bobby or whoever stormed irritatedly past Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle after Dumbledore. He then heard Malfoy call out, "Enemies of the Heir, beware? You'll be next, Mudbloods. And you too, George."

George Clooney winced in fright and sunk beneath the shade of the corridor, slinking away. Harry raised an eyebrow.

Soon they were approaching two large stone gargoyles. "Password?" grunted one near Dumbledore.

"Lemon drop," he said cheerfully, holding Mrs. Norris aloft. "I've had that one for nearly twenty years."

He winked to the camera. Snape rolled his eyes. McGonagall led Lockhart, Hermione and Ron inside as Harry lingered.

"Well, come on, Potter!" snapped McGonagall.

"I... I don't want to, though," said Harry.

Snape, McGonagall, Hermione, Ron, Hugo, Mary and Dib stared at Harry confusedly.

"You can't run against the plot, we have to do this," barked Snape, kicking Harry inside. Once he tumbled down some pretty bird statue thing and into the room, landing in a comfortable seat, Dumbledore was seen sitting behind his desk and in his fancy chair.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her," boomed Lockhart jollily as Dumbledore began to examine the cat on his desk. "Probably the old Transfiguration Kicking Curse. I've used that one– I mean, SEEN it used on many dogs, but I never thought a cat could've died from it. Probably painfully. Very painfully. Not quick. Horrible death. Hear that, Filch? HORRIBLE. What a shame it is. I just... hear me, Filch? Are you– are you crying? Well, you should be. Terrible death."

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Filch, sobbing as Ron chuckled.

At last, Dumbledore stood up straight.

"She's not dead, Argus. But I'm beginning to think she's not a 'she'," concluded Dumbledore. Filch perked up, light shining down through the window and onto his hideous face.

"N-not dead? Then... what is she? All stiff..."

"She's merely petrified forever. Aren't you glad?" he stated.

Filch stared. "And what'd you mean, not a 'she'...?"

"I mean, she's either homosexual, or gay. Or she's a man. Or just a tomcat. Or you neutered her and it went terribly wrong."

McGonagall came and took a glance at the cat.

"Dumbledore, don't you know the difference between a girl and a boy?" asked she irritably.

"Yes. That right there determines it," said Dumble, pointing.

"That... that's her collar," said McGonagall, praying for patience.

"Well, it's blue, isn't it? That determines whether its–"

Snape came up and whacked Dumble over the side of the head with his frying pan, and Dumbledore blinked in confusion. Then he went back to facing Harry, which he remembered he had meant to in the first place.

"As for you Harry–"

"I'm telling you, sir, I didn't do it!"

"I know, Harry," said Dumbledore softly, his blue eyes twinkling as though he was flirting with him. He took a step back.

"–girl–" warned Harry like a black woman.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it..." muttered Dumbledore, as Filch looked scandalized.

"Excuse me! My cat has been petrified. I want to see some beatings!"

"Mr. Filch, I lied," said Dumbledore harshly. "She is dead. Now go away."

Filch started in confusion. _"Then my cat has been murdered!_" he corrected cheekily, tears coming back. "I _still_ want to see some kind of punishment!"

Dumbledore put his hands on his hips irksomely. "I lied again! She's petrified, now will you shut up?! I'm trying to talk to the cool kid."

He then turned his head dramatically, his beard flailing girlishly in the breeze as he faced Harry again. "Now where were we?"

"I AM NOT GAY."

"Oh," coughed Dumbledore embarrassedly. "You... you just looked..."

He glanced at Ron, who shook his head.

"Perhaps Potter and his friends were just going back up to bed, they crossed the corridor and there was the cat," stuttered McGonagall nervously. "I don't believe Harry could have–"

"We all know this chapter has been messed up since the author said Harry went up to bed after the deathday party," piped Hermione suddenly, and everyone faced her. "I say we end this ruddy portion, come to the conclusion that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, that Harry is innocent, and that Mrs. Norris will be saved later in life by the Mandrake Drought. Now I seriously have to pee, can we go now?"

The teachers exchanged glances.

"Alright. See you next chapter, everyone!" concluded Snape. And everyone departed gaily. On the way out, Harry saw a red birdie. It was perdy.


	10. The Rogue Bludger

CHAPTER TEN

THE ROGUE BLUDGER

Harry woke up in the common room that night, his dreams filled with voices that seemed eerie and hiss-like. Terrified, he crawled in bed with Ron, who didn't notice until they woke up the next morning. When they did, they simply stared at each other awkwardly.

"H-Harry?" said Ron slowly, not looking straight at him. "You... you're not really in my bed, are you?"

Harry winced as Ron's cold feet touched him. "I..." he quickly leaped out of bed, and as he did, the covers on Ron flew off to reveal that he was nude.

"OH MY GOD! THE RATING, AVATAR CAN, THE RATING!?" he bellowed, waking the rest of the common room.

"Nothing bad, Harry," said Ron attractively. "I just sleep nude. Nothing bad happened. Nothing sexual, you lot." he added to you.

"Look," said Harry, picking up a slip of paper thumb-tacked on Ron's left buttock. "Hermione's left us a note. She wants us to meet her in the second floor bathroom. The girl's one. Let's go."

Twenty minutes later, they walked in to a crying sound overheard.

"Hermione? Are you in here?" asked Ron nervously as they passed the circular sink set up and began to wander through the rows of pee stalls.

"Over here!" came her voice.

"Get out!" barked a echoey voice near Harry's left ear suddenly. He tumbled sideways in shock and turned to see a floating, pearly white and transparent girl glaring at he and Ron. "This is a girl's bathroom. You aren't girls."

But how did she know th– oh. Ron was still naked. Harry realized Ron wasn't a girl with a start. He wondered his own gender before his thoughts were interrupted by Hermione's voice.

"It's alright Myrtle. I invited them. Just to show them how nice it is."

Myrtle then burst into tears and flushed herself down the toilet.

"What a kvetch..." muttered Ron, approaching the cauldron. "Meaning the 'b' word," he added to you.

"What's this rubbish?" asked Harry to the cross-legged girl on the bathroom floor who was stirring the cauldron. Her name was Hermione.

"Polyjuice Potion. It'll take three more weeks to make it, but I was thinking Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin, so you could turn into Crabbe and Goyle, and me, Pansy Parkinson, to find out for sure, by sneaking into their common room and asking him. It can't be too hard, seeing as how this Potion is illegal and I had to attack Snape to steal this from him."

Ron counted off his fingers as he said, "Let's see... attacking a teacher, brewing an illegal potion, stealing from the same teacher you attacked, sneaking into Malfoy's common room, where we aren't allowed, identity theft, trickery of a blond boy, yeah, I'm in."

Harry rolled his eyes, though agreed after a twenty minute agreement. Then he remembered something.

"Wait... there's no potion in this thing."

"Yes... I need you to manipulate Lockhart into giving you permission to go into the Restricted Section of the Library, then we're going to get the book with the instructions to making this mess. I only have the ingredients here. So go on."

"But wait, in the video games I have to get the in–"

"GO!" shrieked Hermione, pointing at the door.

Harry and Ron scurried off, and Ron found some pants being thrown at people by Peeves. Peeves, unless I haven't told you, is a poltergeist that isn't featured on YouTube. I liked Peeves.

To get back on track with the actual story that I just remembered I was spoofing, Harry, Ron and Hermione ended up in Lockhart's Defense class, where Lockhart was doing one of his normal dramatic reenactments concerning his own death-defying battles with mysterious evil things. Harry, who wanted to soften him up for his task, had tried standing behind him, assumably unnoticed, tenderizing him with a turkey-beater. Unfortunately, he eventually did catch on and tossed Harry in front of him, telling him to act out the part of the infamously sexy demon barber he'd destroyed with nothing but a toothpick and a Ghost Hunters thermal temperature meter.

"Nice big slice there, Harry," he directed him to do, and Harry half-heartedly waved his shaving knife around as though to swat away flies. "Good, good... so then I told that ass, _'Excuse me, Mr. Depp, but I'm more attractive than you,' _and he got so very mad that he exploded. Yes."

Hermione clapped enthusiastically and wolf-whistled. Lockhart beamed and pissed himself with joy. Harry thought he heard him mutter through his teeth in a sing-song voice, "_Little girls find me attractive_!"

The class left, because there was a magic bell on the roof that told everyone to do so whenever the climactic parts of J.K. Rowling's scenes were over, and Harry stepped towards Lockhart, a forced smile on his face.

"Professor, I love you. Will you give me your autograph?" he choked out, presenting his library permission form.

Lockhart was so incredibly flabbergasted by the fact that even Harry Potter found him attractive that he signed the note without question, lost for words and positively stuttering. When the trio marched smartly out of the classroom, Harry stopped at the door, slapped his hand to his forehead and bellowed, "DAMMIT! I'm missing Quidditch! It's a match today, which I completely forgot because CAN forgot! DAMMIT!"

After a frantic skip down the one hundred and forty staircases that were unnecessary around Hogwarts, Harry finally found himself rising through the air on his broomsticks. But Malfoy was close by. He raced him to the death and then a Bludger appear and kicked everyone's ass, mostly his, and he fainted.

He woke up hours later with his skull broken and his arm limp as a rubber duck. Freaking out, he looked up to see Dobby the House-Elf beaming girlishly at him. He was alarming close to Harry's pelvic area...

"'Ello!" shouted Dobby. "Dobby thought he'd sneak up on Harry Potter, just to tell him 'I told you so' and that you need to frickin leave or Dobby will get medieval on your ass."

And with a 'pop!' he disappeared. Harry was just about to go back to sleep, wondering, "WTF??" when Dumbledore marched happily into the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall and some other people no one cares about at his heal. Colin Creevey was being carried to the table, where they tossed him on a hard bed and marched out, uncaring, as Dumbledore said, "Yes. I guess the chamber is indeed open again. We should do something before the less irritating students get petrified..."

The rest of the night Harry was happy, because now Colin couldn't pester him anymore. Life was good.


	11. The Dueling Club

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE DUELING CLUB

Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory

blazing with winter sunlight and his arm reboned but

very stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but it

had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had

changed behind yesterday. Good. Now he wouldn't have to look at the little prick's ugly face. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey

came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began manhandling his arm and fingers to see whether they were ready for... hem hem... _the test_.

"All in order," she said as he clumsily fed himself kibbles left-handed.

"When you've finished eating, you may leave."

Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor

Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin

and Dobby, but they weren't there. Harry left to look for

them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling slightly

hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had his bones

back or not.

He would have to kick their asses when he found them. Angry beyond belief, Harry tramped over all the first years and into Moaning Myrtle's toilet to find Ron and Hermione making out in one of the stalls. When he cleared his throat at them, hurt, Ron looked very guilty.

"Harry, I–" he started.

"I see," said Harry quietly. "You _aren't _gay after all."

Hermione looked very flustered as she crouched over the Polyjuice Potion again and pulled out the book they had gotten from Madam Pince the day before in the library with Lockhart's note, turning the pages with misty eyes.

"Here it is," she said, her catch-phrase from the movies, "the _Sorcerer's Stone_–"

"No, no, Hermione," said Harry, still side-glancing Ron with wounded eyes, "that was the last adventure. We need _Poly_–"

"Yes, yes, it's obvious, isn't it!?" she shouted at Harry, who retreated a few steps. "I made a mistake, that's all. Here it is, the Chamber of Secrets–"

"No, no," said Harry again, shaking his head.

"HERE IT IS!" she bellowed, very angry now. "The Half-Blood Prince is actually Eileen Prince, I'm sure of it–"

"For the love of shit Hermione, give me the damn thing," snapped Ron, jerking the book out of her hands and searching through it himself. "Okay, here it is, the Polyjuice Potion. But since Hermione's too much of an R-tard to figure out what we're even doing, I'll make it. Harry, you need to get me some leeches and knotgrass and lacewing flies I think, sorry, I haven't played the games in a while. Hermione can steal some boomslang skin and fluxweed from Snape, which should be easy enough. He only loathes her ass and wants her dead and makes fun of her parentage and killed her puppy and can see into her thoughts later so he can also get so pissed off that he'll kill her cat too. Break!"

And they went off to their positions. But Harry had brought up Colin and Dobby some time later, and that scene isn't really worth typing down.

However, the news that Colin was pretty much dead for this whole year spread quickly, scaring a lot of people. Neville pissed himself everytime someone mentioned the Heir, and it had been heard him saying, "Everybody knows I might as well have been a Squib."

Ron got to work on the Polyjuice Potion. It turned out that when you made out with someone who was really smart, their smartness could get trapped in your throat, so Ron was now Hermione and Hermione was now Ron. Hermione was now waltzing through the school acting gay while Ron's grades pelted to the heavens and back.

Meanwhile, Harry was known as the Heir of Slytherin. Everyone knew that he had hated Colin, especially after all the times when he'd scurried up to him and piped, "Hiya Harry!" and Harry had punched him in the balls. He'd done the same to Mrs. Norris several times as well, so now everyone was afraid of him. He would walk through the corridors nowadays with Fred and George at his heals, shouting at people, "Murdering bloke coming through! Buy our products in a few years or we'll sick Harry on you!"

This obviously worked, for two years later everyone bought their stuff.

Harry went to breakfast one morning to find Lockhart standing on the table with his wand stuck up Snape's ass. Snape looked very aggravated indeed, and said, "Professor, I believe that is _not _how a proper wizard deals with his wand and magical talent, had you even gotten any." A smile curled on his face, one that reminded Harry of the Grinch, that one smile that scared the bajeepers out of him as a small boy. "I suggest that the infamous Potter and Malfoy come up here and fight to the death."

Lockhart extracted his wand and wiped it clean on his lilac vest. Now it looked a bit like a crapped-on lilac. Funny how I was going somewhere with that statement until I forgot what I had been planning for it just then.

Harry clambered upon the table and balanced himself on the night sky carpet that was on the table for some reason. He pointed his wand at Malfoy and bowed and Malfoy said without bowing, "SERPONSORTIA!"

"You're gonna what now?" asked Harry, but then a snake appeared and went for Justin Finch-Fletchly, who shrieked girlishly. So Harry did what was right and told the snake, "Go the fck away." and it did, but he had used the aura of telling it, "Eat his fcking head." Nobody considered him the hero.

"You're a Parseltongue, Harry!" said Ron later.

"What the frick is that?"

"It means you can make out with snakes!"

"I can French kiss them?"

"Even better! You can London Bridge them!"

"Hollaback girl?" asked Harry, confused.

"No. Fergie. You'll have to ask her."

"Okay."

And he did.

Sorry, I just wanted to get this chapter out of the way. I hate it. :D


End file.
